


Origins

by Nacryless



Series: A legend is born [1]
Category: Maleficent (Disney Movies)
Genre: Blood, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Child Death, Child Neglect, Child auction, Childhood Trauma, Dark Magic, Death, Developing Friendships, Discrimination, Dread, Famine - Freeform, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fear, Female Friendship, Forced Marriage, Gen, Gender Discrimination, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Injury, Insanity, Kidnapping, Labour, Master/Slave, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Otherworld, Possessed Character, Poverty, Pregnancy, Prophecy, Self-Harm, Slave Trade, Slavery, Spirits, Stillborn baby, Temporary Character Death, hunger, medieval times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24188959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nacryless/pseuds/Nacryless
Summary: A few years after the second movie, Diaval and Maleficent are expecting their first children. Twins! However, not everything goes according to plan. Will Nacryless be able to free the Moors from the darkness plaguing them?
Relationships: Aurora & Diaval (Disney), Aurora/Maleficent (Disney), Borra/Maleficent (Disney), Diaval/Maleficent (Disney)
Series: A legend is born [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821712
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	1. Where it all began

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thornvale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thornvale/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Flame of Tech Duinn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23236210) by [Thornvale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thornvale/pseuds/Thornvale). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is inspired by Thornvale's Beyond the Black Veil series. I will be focusing on Maleficent and Diaval's daughter in this multi-chapter story. I highly recommend reading her stories first, as I will be using many details from them. Otherwise, you might have trouble understanding the plot of my story. Also, please note that this fic was written before the series was finished, so I might not always be faithful to them. 
> 
> Sorry if there are a few minor mistakes throughout my work, English isn’t my first language. Feel free to correct me or to leave constructive comments. They would be greatly appreciated, as I’m always trying to improve my writing :)

The sun was rising on the Moors. Flowers were blooming, birds were singing and faeries were chattering. A quiet breeze brushed the treetops, their branches gently swaying to its soothing rhythm, like a gentle pulse. A pulse of life, of redemption. For it was a redemption for a certain winged fairy. She had first learnt to love sweet Aurora, the child she had cursed, blinded by hate and revenge. Her heart had been healed by her little beastie. With her kind soul, she had made her way through Maleficent's thick walls like they didn't exist. With her innocence and happiness, she had shown her faery godmother how to laugh once more. And with her unconditional love and forgiveness, she stole what was left of her shattered heart. Then, there was Diaval. Her lifetime companion with whom she had raised Aurora. Her favourite arguing partner. Her loyal, boastful, sympathetic, incredulous, awkward and loving raven. Diaval, her beloved mate. And now, they were expecting children of their own. Twins, in fact. Two fledglings fighting to be welcomed into the world.

Maleficent screamed. Her body suffered a ripple of seizing and unbearable pain. It could be dull, as it could be searing. No words could describe it. At first, it had only caused her slight discomfort. Now, it was something else. Much more powerful. She braced herself as another wave of contractions hit her.

"Diaval!" "Diaval!," she panted. Sweat creased her brow. Exhaustion was gaining on her. Her labour was difficult.

"I'm here dear. Everything is going to be alright.” He affectionately stroked her wet hair. " I'm so proud of you. I know you can do it Maleficent. You are the strongest faery I know! " Their eyes locked. Love and faith shone in Diaval's. Maleficent nodded. She was ready.

"Push godmother! The first baby is crowning!", Aurora exclaimed.

The faery took a deep breath and summoned her innermost strength. With an unearthly wail, she pushed.

"Again godmother! You are almost there!" 

With a grunt, she pushed and pushed again.

"Last one!"

With a last energy-consuming push, the first baby was delivered. Its cries summoned sights of relief. Without knowing it, Diaval had been holding his breath for who knows how long. He was so glad that both his mate and child were well. Worn out, Maleficent let herself heavily fall onto her nest. She knew she had to rest before she gave birth to the second twin. 

"It's a girl!" After cleaning the newborn, Aurora handed her to her mother.

"She's perfect," Diaval murmured.

A genuine smile lit Maleficent's strained features. "She looks just like you dear", Maleficent said lovingly. The young girl had indeed inherited Diaval's black hair, along with a few stray feathers. Her physique held nothing of a faerie's. No majestic wings adorned her back and no horns would ever grow out of her skull. One could easily mistake her for a human child. The only giveaways were her eyes. Human newborns usually have blue eyes. But she, on the other hand, shared the same piercing green irises as her mother. She was simply stunning.

Unfortunately, the couple didn’t get to cuddle with its daughter for long. Soon, more contractions shook Maleficent’s already tired body. She was lacking crucial energy. She had been oddly quiet after her daughter's birth. Colours had faded from her already pale face, but it had been overlooked, camouflaged by the awe of new life.

“Diaval” she whispered.

“Yes, my love?” 

“Take good care of our daughter.” She smiled weakly and then went limp. Her whole body collapsed onto the feathery nest. That’s when Aurora saw the blood. Until this moment, it had gone unnoticed, hidden by her thick robes. Dread chilled her to the bones. She screamed.

“Diaval! Give me the babe, quickly! Go fetch the dark fey healers or Maleficent might die from blood loss!” Diaval’s eyes widened with fear. He nodded and raced outside. In his great hurry, he tripped and fell in the mud a couple of times. Luckily, his stressed demeanour and grand gestures weren’t ignored.

“Help! Maleficent is in danger! Go fetch the healers!” he shouted. Hearing his words, a swarm of pixies took off in a great hurry.

“Diaval! Knotgrass and I can help too! You’ll need as many hands as you can get!” Thistlewit said. Having no time to argue, Diaval beckoned them to follow him.

As they ran back to the nest in the rowan tree, multiple large shadows flew over them. “It’s the dark fey!” Knotgrass squealed! “They’ll save Maleficent!” Diaval ardently hoped it was true. A few seconds later, the trio arrived at the large nest. The two pixies swiftly flew in but were violently thrown out. Shaking their heads and brushing their dresses, they angrily muttered about how pretentious those dark fey were.

“What’s going on?” Diaval asked, still climbing the ladder up the tree. Noticing his daughter running towards him, holding his newborn daughter in her arms, he questioned her. “Aurora! How is she?”

“I don’t really know. As soon as the healers arrived, they pushed me out of the way and now, they won't let me by her side. They seemed very concerned." 

Hearing those words, Diaval replied: “Those bastards, they won’t even let family help!” Ignoring his fledgling’s protests, Diaval still entered the nest. He hurriedly tried to join his mate’s side but was stopped by Borra.

“Where’s Maleficent”, he asked threateningly.

“Don’t come any further” Borra growled. “The phoenix is gravely hurt. The healers are working on her now.”

“Why can’t I see her? She’s my mate! I need to be by her side!” Diaval pleaded.

“You cannot see her, because it would break the healing spell. And if it does break, we’ll lose her. Her condition is far more severe than excessive blood loss. That’s not what you want, eh raven? ” he replied severely. Diaval violently shook his head.

”Good. Now go wait outside, we need to work. I believe the blonde human is waiting for you.” Without another word, Borra turned his back to Diaval. Crushed, the latter understood that he was dismissed and sadly left the nest.

Diaval’s heart broke. He couldn’t even look at Aurora as he made his way down the rowan tree. Guilt gnawed at him. He couldn’t stop thinking that he was the one who did this to Maleficent. He was the only one responsible for her pain. He would never forgive himself if something happened to his mate, or to their yet unborn child.

“Father”, Aurora called softly. He gave her a sorrowful look. 

“Shh, it’s okay. Mother is strong. She’ll pull through. I know she will. She’s a fighter.”

“Sweet Aurora... Your mother is the most resilient woman I know. It’s just…” He fled her gaze. Aurora held him by the shoulders.

“Look at me. None of this is your fault okay? Mother wouldn’t want you to feel this way. Stay strong father. For Maleficent. For your daughter. For your child still in the womb. They all need you right now.” He sighed. “Look. I know it’s hard. Don’t you think I feel guilty too? I was her midwife! I should have known how to take care of this. Sometimes, things just get out of our control. But that’s life! Life gives us mountains to climb. But it also gives us the best of gifts.”

“You’re so wise Aurora. So young but yet so knowledgeable. I am so lucky to have you. Where on Earth did you learn how to advise people so well?" He wiped his tears and gave her a tight hug.

"Well, isn't it obvious? I had a formidable teacher.", she answered simply. 

“Thank you. Really. Thank you.” With that, he slowly walked towards with newborn’s woven crib. She was sleeping soundly. The rise and fall of her tiny chest were very calming. Amazed, Diaval gently picked her up. Without stirring, the little girl cooed in the contentment of being held. She unconsciously snuggled closer to her father.

“I think she likes me!” Diaval beamed.

“She sure does father, she already knows that you are a good man. Babies can sense such things you know.”

“Oh! Can they now?” Aurora’s smile was her only answer. Sitting comfortably, their backs to the cliff overlooking the Moors, Aurora, Diaval and the baby watched the sun set behind the huge mountains that bordered their home. Relaxed by their mutual presence, they dozed off.

Meanwhile, chaos was settling inside the nest. Maleficent’s power was weakened, but it was strong enough to fight the healing waves. It mistook them for danger. It was a rare phenomenon that only happened when faeries were too far gone to heal on their own. It was a last desperate attempt to salvage their life. But nature isn’t always merciful. By doing so, Maleficent’s magic was trying to draw energy wherever it could. From its “enemies” but also, from the unborn baby. Maleficent’s body was murdering the baby to save itself. That is the cruel nature of life. The strongest will very often win against the weak, even if the weak is a baby, a mother’s most treasured being. The dark fey were taken aback. They had, of course, heard of this phenomenon but had never witnessed it for themselves. They didn’t know whether to save the mother or the baby now in distress. Opinions were mixed among the group.

“We must save the mother!” Shrike said. “She is the phoenix! It would be terrible to lose her without an heir. The baby isn’t born yet. She can always have other children”.

“I disagree. We must save the child, that's what Maleficent would have wanted." Merin argued. 

“ No, no and no! When will you understand? It’s too risky to save the baby. I agree with Shrike, we must save Maleficent! We cannot let her die! Her firstborn is human. She bears no power. The line is only matrilineal, she must have other kids with a fae this time! What if she only brings cursed children into the world? Do I have to make you remember who her mate is? It is no wonder really, that she’s dying. What a mess!” Borra said with an annoyed tone.

"We don't know about Diaval's heritage yet. It's pointless to make any assumptions. What if the other baby is a fae girl?” Merin counterargued. 

“Who cares if the baby if a fae girl? She is of mixed blood. No fae is as pure and powerful as Maleficent. We must save HER. However, I believe that if we create a power vortex, we may send Maleficent enough energy to save the baby’s life. Now listen to me all of you. All of this arguing is costing her precious time. We must get to work NOW if we want to save her and give her the vitality she desperately needs. It’s going to be painful. It’s going to be hard. But it’s necessary. Are you with me?” Udo yelled.

“Hoh Hou hou hou” The dark fey approved. They beat their chests with their fists in a primal way, summoning a powerful bubble of energy. Their individual rays of magic fused and twirled together. Alone, they were powerless. Together, they were one. They created a whirlwind of healing, filled with love and despair. The ultimate circle of hope. So powerful, it lit the entire Moors in an eerie way. It sent a blast of energy. A blast of life, of pure magic. But sadly, it wasn’t enough. The vortex’s sole effect was to amplify the destructive vicious circle. Maleficent had gotten hungrier for magic. She was gulping down on the power. She was hungry, so hungry for energy. The other fey had to be careful. If they didn’t pay attention, she could suck all of their vital essences directly out of them, leaving their bodies as an empty shell. But it was working. Her body was gaining strength every second. Every inch of her body was glowing gold. Her wings fluttered and her whole body tensed up in a powerful push. She was still unconscious, but her body was delivering the second twin. It was heartbreaking to watch. Yes, the dark fey were resurrecting their leader, but they were also harming her baby. But they had no choice. Maybe it wasn't the right decision. Maybe it’s not what she would have wanted. Maleficent would surely have rathered dying than losing her child. But, she would get the chance to raise her daughter and live a long life. Plus, she would be able to pursue the phoenix line, and that was essential to her kind. It made it worth it to the fey. It justified their actions. With one last jolt, a young boy was born. His birth broke the healing bubble. All magic vanished in an instant. Depleted of stamina, the four dark fey slid to the ground, panting. They had done it. Their phoenix was alive. But at what price?

Diaval and Aurora, who had been startled awake by the blast of glowing magic rushed inside. The scene before their eyes was simply heart wrenching. The four healers were slumped against the walls of the nest, exhausted. Maleficent was covered in blood from the birth and her deceased son lay at her feet. Moved, Diaval went straight to her.  


“Maleficent! I’m so glad you’re okay! I was worried sick!” Her eyes blinked open.

Oblivious to Diaval and Aurora's presence, the new mom called for her son. “My baby! Where’s my baby! I want him!” she wailed. She wasn’t her usual self. She was clearly in distress. To comfort her, Diaval gently embraced her. 

"It's okay. It's over. Aurora and I are here with you now. You're safe." He whispered into her ear.

Allowing herself to relax into his arms, she locked her gaze to his. In a more collected voice, she asked her question again. “Diaval, what happened to our child? 

It was Aurora who answered first. She couldn't contain her sadness anymore. She sniffled. “I’m so sorry godmother.” She held in her arms a limp little bundle. His skin was greyish and his eyes sealed shut. His minuscule brown wings sagged loosely on his back. He looked sick. Still, he wore a peaceful expression on his face. He appeared to be resting in an endless sleep. Sadly, the world would never hear his cries, laughs and screams. He would never walk nor fly on the Moors. And he would never grow up to be the fey he was destined to become.

“No” Maleficent wailed. “No, it can’t be. He can’t be dead! It’s impossible!” She let out a cry of agony, very similar to the one she had once let out after Stefan cut her wings, a long time ago. Aurora deposited the young boy into his mother’s arms. A stream of tears was pouring out of her eyes.

Maleficent rocked the lifeless baby in her arms. "Hey darling” she whispered. “You are a gorgeous boy aren’t you?” she whimpered.

“We did make a gorgeous hatchling together, didn’t we? Look at the little man. He’s a fighter. His tiny little hands are clenched together like a warrior’s in front of a battlefield.” Diaval added.

“Korr” Maleficent murmured. “That’s your name, little guy. He who fights for good causes. That’s the meaning of your name.” “

"Go chase your dreams in the otherworld darling! We love you so, so much. It's such a shame we never got to know you.” Diaval finished. The family burst into tears.

“My poor baby brother. He never had a chance to see the world.” Aurora sobbed. “Life can be so cruel sometimes.”

“Well, at least we saved your life Maleficent." Borra interrupted. Would you have rathered dying?”

“YOU!” Maleficent answered angrily, her eyes flashing green. Even though everything about her dishevelled look proved that she was weary, her bloodthirsty eyes and her stance made her look even more terrifying and authoritarian than usual.“How dare you say something like that! I just lost my baby!”

“Borra, leave it” Merin instructed. He ignored her.

“Yes the baby you bore died, but it’s for the best. Your daughter is as human as she can possibly be. Your son held no powers. Must I remember you that the phoenix line is matrilineal? We had to save you to pursue it! You are the last heir! Think about your own before yourself!”

“OUT ALL OF YOU!” Maleficent shouted. “You have absolutely no right to speak about my family this way. I am your leader. You MUST listen to me and right now, I am ordering you to GET THE HELL OUT OF MY NEST!” A burst of emerald magic accompanied her harsh words, shoving the stirring dark fey out of her family tree.

“All right, all right, we were leaving! No need to overreact! I was just stating facts!” Borra retorted. A harsh stare was her only answer.

After they were all gone, Maleficent collapsed and let her emotions consume her. She pulled Diaval, Aurora and her two biological children in a tight hug. It was a very touching moment, filled with affection and despair. The firstborn baby chose this heartfelt moment to wake up. Her little eyes blinked open, looking at the world with wonder.

“Hello, little one. You are beautiful just the way you are you know? You are so loved.” Maleficent kissed her forehead gently. The newborn gurgled happily.

“She is a fighter too isn’t’ she? Against all odds, she made it. One of a kind. Half fey, half raven. Our own little miracle. Her name should be Nacryless," Diaval murmured. “It suits her. It is a very unique and mysterious name. In the old raven tongue, it holds a soft but strong meaning at the same time. What do you think?”

“It’s perfect godfather!”

“I too love it, darling. We couldn’t have found a better name. She’s our own baby warrior. She is so small, but yet, she’s destined to something great. I know it.”

The next day, a solemn funeral to which all the Moorfolk attended was held. Korr was buried in the Tomb Bloom field, along with will all of the other deceased fae folk. His parents were absolutely devastated. Consumed by an irrational fit of anger, Maleficent cast away the four healers who had spared her life but condemned her son to an early death. She banned them from ever returning to the Moors. It may have seemed like an irrational punishment, but Maleficent didn't care. She was living a loss that she once thought would never happen again. This time though, she didn't reject love as if it were the plague. No. This time, it was necessary for her recovery. Diaval and Aurora were there for her and she was there for them too. They all felt numb with grief and pain, but by having one another, they stayed strong. For each other, for the Moors, but most of all, for themselves. 

Soon, six months had gone by and the pain of losing a child was slowly easing away. It wasn’t as striking as it had once been, it was becoming more of a muted ache. The guilt and shame were still there but were also getting more manageable. In short, the couple was feeling much better. The feeling of the delight in taking care of Nacryless was slowly taking over the feeling of loss. She was bonding with her parents and already growing fast. They didn’t feel as guilty of their happiness anymore. Slowly, time was healing their wounds. But sadly, it was not to last. Curses were never meant to be cast alone. One night, something atrocious occurred, that would forever impact Nacryless’s life. And it wasn’t for the best... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, my username is based on my main character. I just really like the name okay? 
> 
> (and maybe I lacked a bit of inspiration too, but that’s just a supposition... :))


	2. Bad omen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moon was veiled that night. Clouds obscured its comforting light, thus plunging the world in total darkness. No sound broke the mysterious atmosphere, a silence so dense and eerie that it sent humans, faeries and animals hiding. No one really knew why or how. They only knew one thing, something evil was coming…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than the others to come because it serves the purpose of transition between the introduction and the main story. 
> 
> If you haven't already, I would highly recommend reading Thornvale's Beyond the Black veil series because from this point on, I will be using a lot of details from it to create my plot. It's simply impossible to truly appreciate my work without reading her stories first. If you are looking for an awesome Maleval story, she is the author to go to. She is gifted with words, a blessing that very few possess. She is truly formidable. I swear you won't be disappointed :)

Night was falling on the Moors. Sitting in their nest, Maleficent and Diaval were watching the sun set behind the horizon. It was the sole moment where day and night danced in unison, harmoniously fading into the arms of the other. Their explosion of red, pink, yellow and orange hues fading into blues, bringing the promise of a new dawn. An ultimate paradox, yet extremely vital. It was nevertheless a very peaceful moment.

But that day was undoubtedly different. The beautiful swirls of colour had lost their soft touch. They were elongated and sharp, twisted in macabre shapes. The fragile equilibrium had been upset, mourning the doomed light. Gone were the usual amber and onyx shades, overcast by the sun’s dying rays. They made the sky glow crimson red. The colour of blood, the colour of death. Something about it made Diaval shudder. He could sense that this was not an ordinary sunset. Unfortunately, he was soon to learn the terrible truth behind this mysterious phenomenon...

“Maleficent. Do you feel this?” he asked, still unsettled by his bad feeling.

“No, what are you talking abo...” She never finished her sentence, stunned by the spectacle taking place before her eyes.

The sun had just fallen below the horizon, losing to the triumph of the night. This caused a brutal change to occur in the atmosphere. The residing unkindness of ravens took flight, cawing in alarm , pixies gasped, Wallerbogs retreated to their mud pools, Water nymphs dived in the safety of the water and Tree warriors furiously agitated their branches in reaction to this unexpected incident. Maleficent was petrified too.

She felt like millions of invisible eyes were staring at her accusingly from all directions. Her feathers stood in end, prickling with unease. A whirlwind of murmurs in the ancient tongue, whispered their warnings as they echoed from the rising Moon. They made their way across the cliffs gaining in intensity and harshly attacking the faerie's ears. She covered them in a desperate attempt to shield her mind from the rising tide. It was a grim wave of fear, one overflowing with dread. A strong gust of dark magic accompanied it, blowing smaller moorfolk into one another and violently shaking the trees in the valley below, bending them in odd angles. Some were so crooked that their tallest branches roughly scraped the forest floor, leaving large streaks, similar to the devil's claw marks.

Maleficent wasn't immune to the spectral wind either. It pierced her skin without mercy, chilling her to the core. It made her heart skip a beat. She had experienced an event similar to this before, a long time ago, during the Feth Fiadha. It brought back undesirable memories to the surface, of a time of deep troubles, ones that she fervently wished to forget. Shielding her mate and herself from the storm with her large brown wings, she waited for it to pass.

A few seconds later, the surge of terror vanished, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. This was only a glimpse of something much bigger and dangerous. Something evil was coming. Soon, very very soon.

* * *

Maleficent wasted no time. She was internally terrified, but she didn’t let it show. Her face was a mask once more, not betraying her feeling of overwhelmedness. As the guardian of the Moors, it was her duty to stay strong to protect them.

“Moorfolk!” she exclaimed, her voice carrying effortlessly. “You are all witnesses to the dark omen that has fallen upon the Moors. This foreign magic is extremely malevolent and ancient. That makes it very powerful. Take shelter, my friends, we must be prepared. Bring anything you deem necessary. Please spread the word, we don’t know how long this threat will hang over the Moors... Gather to the enchanted caves. We will be safe there.”

The moorfolk hurriedly scattered across the Moors, obeying their leader’s orders.

Sighing, she turned to Diaval who was, as always, standing by her side. "Diaval. Make sure that all the magical creatures are safely escorted to the enchanted caves. Take our daughter with you. I must warn Aurora about this."

“Promise me you’ll be careful Maleficent. We don't know what is behind this phenomenon. What if it's another attack from the undead?“

“Trust me Diaval. I know what I’m doing. I will be right back. Don’t worry” She smiled faintly and embraced her mate. Maleficent was far from being as confident as she tried to appear and Diaval was no fool. He could see the glint of uncertainty in her eyes and detect the slight tremor in her voice as she spoke. More than twenty years by her side had allowed him to understand Maleficent’s emotions better than his own. He was aware of how terrified she was, but played along. He knew how hard his mate was trying to conceal her emotions. It allowed her to keep her composure and to shield those she loved from worry. It was an unfortunate inheritance from the time where she had needed it to survive. It was of course no longer necessary, but deep scars don’t fade overnight. As the years passed, she was getting better at willingly showing her emotions, but when she was truly troubled, the mask always came back up as an ultimate protection mechanism.

To comfort his mate and to signify his understanding without freaking her out, he gently brushed her cheek and gave her a chaste kiss. “See you soon my love,” he said. This small gesture of affection gave Maleficent the comfort that she craved deep down.

She nodded and spread her majestic wings. She gave one last look to Diaval, before heading south, towards Ulstead. Towards her beloved beastie and her human kingdom. Some rain was starting to pour, soaking her feathers and making her flight more arduous. But Maleficent was a determined woman. She beat her wings harder and faster to get to her daughter in time. To protect her and the fragile peace that united both of her kingdoms. It was primordial.

* * *

The sky had just turned pitch black when Maleficent reached Ulstead. She watched as Aurora sang a sweet lullaby to her almost-four-year-old son Riordan to put him to bed. When she finished singing, the little boy was already fast asleep. Aurora lovingly kissed his forehead and tucked him into his bed. Only after did she blow the candles and retreat to her adjacent bedroom, did she notice her godmother, waiting for her on the balcony.

“Godmother! What brings you here at such a late hour?" she asked. "I missed you!” She gave Maleficent a tender hug. The faerie returned the affectionate gesture with a little too much strength. "Godmother, you're choking me!" Aurora giggled. Realizing that the faerie was oddly silent, Aurora felt that something was off.

“What’s the matter? Are you alright?”

Maleficent inhaled sharply, well aware of the anguish her words would stir."I am well thank you." she answered. "However, I come to warn you beastie. Something terrible is about to happen, I can feel it in my bones.”

"What kind of thing?"

"I don't know. I know it holds great power, perhaps greater than my own. What's coming is extremely dark and most definitely isn't native to our world."

"Something like the Feth Fiadha?” horror tainted Aurora’s voice.

“Yes” Maleficent murmured. “It doesn't emit the same energy, but it is very similar to it. It reeks of death. Last time, I had a feeling of discomfort and dread like this. And you know what ensued. Whatever it is, it mustn't be ignored. There are no doubts that this shadow poses a threat to the Moors and to Ulstead.”

"I must warn the Ulsteadians! I will not let my people fall victim to a.. a monster!”

“No you mustn't. Find Philip, John and Riordan. Meet me at the edge of the Moors. I will bring you to safety.” Maleficent said.

"But who will protect my subjects? I can’t just leave them behind! I refuse to flee like last time.” Aurora exclaimed. “You can’t expect me to just... depart?” Aurora said in disbelief

“Of course not beastie! You misunderstood me. Gather your family. I will protect your kingdom. I know how important the humans are to you. But you must hurry. I can feel the force getting stronger by every passing minute. The evil is getting closer.” Aurora’s eyes widened with fear, but she nodded.

Maleficent spread her wings and flew out of her daughter’s room by the window. She immediately got to work, summoning a powerful spell of protection around the castle, strengthening it layer by layer until it was surrounded by golden magic.

Meanwhile, the castle’s bells were ringing, alerting the population to gather as quickly as possible inside the forteress’ walls. Soldiers were sent to patrol the entire kingdom, to ensure more security, especially in the farmlands, on the outskirts of the city. There simply wasn’t enough time to gather all the peasants. Hopefully, it would suffice and the evil wouldn’t attack the countryside, where the population density was very low.

* * *

In the meantime, in the Moors…

After Maleficent’s departure, Diaval was in charge of protecting the Moors and ensuring that every single magical creature had entered the old caves. While attending to his duty, he couldn’t shake the growing angst that was plaguing him. He was not only worried for Maleficent and Aurora, vulnerable in the human kingdom but also for himself. Last time that a dark force had raged upon Ulstead, he had been unable to control his dragon form, its primal instinct taking over his own conscience. That had caused him to take numerous human lives and to inflict major damages to Aurora’s crown. He couldn’t help but apprehend the happening of something similar. He wouldn’t forgive himself if it happened again. To make matters worse, Nacryless was being extremely fussy. This wasn’t like her at all. She was usually a pretty laid back baby, not crying very often. But that evening, she was inconsolable. Diaval had tried to soothe her, but none of his usual tricks were working. He assumed that she was perturbed by the sudden change in the atmosphere. After the hasty wave of dark magic, the temperature had significantly dropped and something about the skies wasn’t right. Just thinking about it, Diaval had shivers running down his spine. He would do anything to protect his daughter, but the threat hovering in the air was beyond him. He felt extremely forlorn.

Hours passed. Exhausted from overthinking, Diaval, at last, allowed himself to pass out, holding his daughter close to his chest. Unfortunately, sleep didn’t provide much-needed relief from his inner turmoil. The shapeshifter was having the worst nightmare he had ever had in a long time. Everything felt so real! He hadn’t experienced something as truly terrifying since Wynne and the island of Tech Duinn. He felt trapped in his own body as he watched the terrible scene unfold in slow motion.

He was standing in a clearing in the Moors, waiting for something to happen, or rather, for something to arrive. He felt it long before it happened. Instinctively, his gaze went to the sky. The moon was veiled that night. Thick clouds obscured its comforting light, thus painting the world shades of grey. Miles away, a spectral shadow was pursuing its ineluctable route towards the Moors. Drifting high above the clouds, it mingled with the secrets of the night. Its enormous présence obscured everything on its path. Its very essence corrupted by the touch of death and misery. As it got closer and closer, its power grew exponentially, renewed by the closeby presence of its unsuspecting victim. Stretching far beyond it, waves of dark energy destroyed everything on their path. No life on Earth could resist them. Only one touch of their ghostly tentacles sufficed to make nature wither.

In response to its magnetic power, Diaval watched in utter shock as his arms extended on their own towards the sky, offering his innocent daughter to the shadow. She was crying harder than ever as if she knew what terrible fate was awaiting her. Every inch of Diaval’s body was protesting against it. He was screaming internally. He couldn’t understand what was happening! His own body had become a pawn in an ill-intentioned scheme. He was frozen in place, only able to witness the behemoth’s arrival. It was floating directly above Diaval and Nacryless. The baby stopped crying at once. She stared at the otherworldly creature, fascinated. It stared back at her too. Then, it gently surrounded her with a cloud of dark magic, stealing her from her father’s arms. As abruptly as it had arrived, the shadow vanished, taking Nacryless along with it. Diaval’s mission was fulfilled.

The horrendous scene kept replaying itself endlessly until the shapeshifter finally woke up wailing, sorrow piercing his heart. Where once rested his asleep daughter was now a growing void. He couldn’t believe his little hatchling was truly gone.

“Nacryless! No!” He was fidgeting, kicking the asleep moorfolk around him.

“Diaval! What happened?” The pixies asked, concerning tainting their high pitched voices.

“I…” Diaval stammered.

The bad dream was still vivid, but the raven man couldn’t bring himself to blurt it out. The memory was quickly fading. All he remembered was having his daughter brutally stolen from him, but not the details of the horrendous process.

“I don’t know. Nacryless disappeared,” he bawled. Deep inside, he knew what happened, but it was too traumatic for his soul to remember.

“Diaval! Wait! Come back! What if it’s still dangerous outside?” The pixies said.

Too troubled to listen to them, he ran out of the magical caves, in a desperate attempt to find his daughter. Two waterfalls of tears were pouring out of his eyes. He wouldn’t give up. He had to find her. He had to! His whole life depended on it. Disoriented, he ran in circles across the Moors, until he bumped into Maleficent, Aurora, Philip and Riordan leaving Ulstead. He threw himself into Maleficent’s arms, crying uncontrollably. Nacryless was his responsibility and he had failed her. He was consumed by anger, but mostly, by guilt. He wanted to go back in time, to do everything differently, to protect his family better. But it was already too late. The past would remain unchanged.

* * *

Having retrieved its treasure, the wicked shadow made its way through the night, leaving a bolt of green magic fade in the distance. But it never reached its final destination. Its route was interrupted by human soldiers brandishing torches while patrolling the countryside to protect their kingdom. The shadow led out a transcendental shriek. It had been confronted to its sole mortal enemy: light. Light, the only weapon pure enough to tear it to shreds and that could reveal its true nature to the whole wide world. And so, the shadow left this side of the Earth, never to be seen again. But the havoc it left behind was too indelible to ever be forgotten. It had forever imprinted the course of many, many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, constructive comments would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Flashback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *DISCLAIMER* This chapter is heavily inspired by chapter 8 of the Treasure of Witches and by chapter 3 of the White Raven, both by Thornvale. I added more details, a prophecy and Diavals's perspective of death. This is not something I like to do, but I had to give my plot some sense. The rest of the work is the fruit of my imagination. I hope you understand!

After defeating Wynne, Diaval felt himself die. From the chill settled deep in his bones, he could perceive it. From the blur his thoughts had become, he knew it. He was dying, frozen to the heart by an evil curse. There he lay, huddled onto Maleficent’s lap, her large wings hugging him close. He was cold, so cold and weak. He could feel his Mistress’ magic flowing through his body, powerless before Wynne’s curse. It was too late. She couldn’t save him. No matter how powerful the golden tendrils of healing magic were, they would continue to diverge away from their target, bouncing off of the icy shield. Soon, the vile frost would mercilessly consume his whole body. Maleficent’s eyes watered as she tried, again and again, to free her loyal servant from the tightening vice. She choked a sob as realization dawned on her. Devastated, she gently stroked his bloody hair in a comforting gesture. Diaval had never seen the powerful faerie so emotional before. Groggy, he tried his best to stay conscious as his thoughts spiralled into a cloud of confusion. He had one last thing to tell his Mistress before he lost his final battle against time.

“Miss- Mistress”, he rasped. “I’m sorry, for the… c- cave, I didn’t mean too…” he trailed, a lone tear falling out of his eye.

“Hush Diaval. You did nothing wrong, Maleficent whispered, gently wiping away his tear. Diaval could see her ruby lips continue moving as she spoke, but his mind was too far gone to hear whatever words she enunciated. But it didn’t matter anymore. He was content with her proximity. There were no other places he would have wished to be in his final moments, embraced by the love of his life. Her green irises glowed gold with love and sorrow. Mesmerized, Diaval felt himself melt into the two sentimental pools of affection that were his Mistress’s eyes. At that moment, he knew that she loved him. There it was, plainly written on her gaze. Two decades-old feelings lit her gorgeous features. And then, she kissed him, slowly, lovingly, sealing her silent promise to him. This was more than what Diaval could have ever wished for. He would be okay. He was loved. Engulfed in a feeling of peace, he realized that he could let himself go. He knew that Maleficent and Aurora were safe from the Moon Witch. She would get the punishment she deserved, he was certain of it. Sighing, his mind finally at ease, Diaval closed his eyes trying to memorize every single detail of Maleficent’s face, before finally taking his last breath.

Diaval of the Moors, loyal raven and defender of Wickpon, was no more.

* * *

Death, was not as Diaval had expected. He had always thought that animals who pass away lose their soul in tribute to the wellbeing of nature. Everything fades away in an endless sea of darkness, but everything also dawns in a flicker of energy. Their bodies returned to the Earth, to live once more, in the mighty stance of a tree, in the mystical dew ornating a rose’s petal, in the shadow of a cloud, in the arch of a dove’s feather. But Diaval was wrong. He had long outlived a raven’s biological longevity, defying the very laws that Mother Nature had bestowed upon his kind. Having been sustained by Maleficent’s magic for so long had transformed him into somewhat of a magical creature. And perhaps that was why he was allowed to the otherworld. Or perhaps he had been wrong this whole time, all creatures, magical or not, equal in death. How could he have known? The dead never live to spread the tale, burying the mystery of death in their grave. Whatever the reason was, Diaval never lost his spirit as he departed the living world. And that made the whole ordeal even more terrifying.

He had the petrifying impression of falling endlessly. The world around him spun faster and faster until he lost all notion of time. At one point, he felt himself shift into his original raven self. Perhaps death had restored his original form. Or maybe it was all an illusion. Was it even real? Everything almost felt like a dream. Diaval could still perceive what was going on around him, but he couldn’t feel the rush of the air on his feathers, nor hear his own alarmed caws. All was a silent blur. No longer was he cuddled on Maleficent’s lap. Now, he was floating in midair, surrounded by a cloud of mist. He had become a ghoul, destined to roam the Earth until the end of time.

After what felt like hours, the world finally stopped spinning. Cautiously, Diaval opened his eyes. He was in an underground cave. How far below the surface, he did not know. But judging by the strain on his figure, he estimated that he was very deep into the bowels of the Earth. Stalagmites and stalactites jagged the small space, piercing it like deadly spears. A few streams of salty water trickled down from the ceiling, breaking the eerie silence with an occasional loud drip. The air was very damp, lacking oxygenation. It held a characteristic stench of mould and death, making Diaval gag. Despite being a scavenger, it was the worst smell he had ever inhaled. To make matters worse, he couldn't move, his entire being prey to invisible waves that were pushing him closer and closer to the end of the cavern. He could feel their force crashing into him, viciously shoving him towards something utterly terrifying. He could feel its presence, majestic and ominous. The nearer Diaval got to it, the more scared he became.

He didn’t see anything at first, but as his keen eyes got adjusted to the poor luminosity, he noticed an unnatural archway. It had a craggy look to it as if it had been carved into the stone by centuries of erosion. It gave off the same feeling of ancientness and power as the statues of the pùca and the faerie rings. Corroded stone staircases led to it. As he crossed them, ancient lanterns suddenly spit out their green fires, lighting the sinister path and allowing Diaval to see what was awaiting him. An engraved raven skull sat atop of the crooked arch, staring at him with glowing crimson eyes. Jet black feathers adorned it, creating a narrow entrance. Sentences in the old language were carved into each individual feather. The runes carried an uncanny message :

_"Spioradan agus eallachan is dòcha gum bi Donn a ‘tagradh airson d’ anaman aonaranach. Gabh air falbh thu, sgaoil bròn is sgrios nad dhùisg!"_

Reading those lines caused the shapeshifter to shudder, suddenly cold. Uncontrollable shivers ran over his frame, making each individual feather stand on end. Diaval had known fear, he had experienced curses. But this wasn’t even close to the shards of pain he felt under Wynne’s service. No, he was not stranded in the middle of an icy snowstorm, but rather, in a blizzard of dread. His body was losing the last remnants of its vital warmth. Slowly, the phantom crisp would take over. He would become a condemned shadow of himself, depleted of thoughts, a slave of Donn. There were no ways out. He was frozen in place, but still, unknown energy kept dragging him closer and closer to the cursed arch. Aghast, Diaval tried to look away, but he was unable to. His gaze was locked onto the sinister arch, staring at a winged hourglass that sat upon the raven skull, calculating the time that he still had before definitively leaving this world. But the most troubling thing of all was that an infinite void stretched behind the portal. Beneath it, was a torn dark veil, gently swaying to a spectral wind’s erratic rhythm and calling Diaval’s name. He was utterly terrified. Somehow, he instinctively knew that a part of him was still alive, but beyond that arch, everything would change. He couldn’t see past it, nor did he want to go through it. It became crystal clear that this was a point of no return.

As he crossed the final step, Diaval’s body began to dematerialize. The wind coming from the otherworld swirled around him violently, creating a vortex of black smoke and slowly reducing his talons and wings to dust. The last black feather had fallen into the bottom reservoir of the winged hourglass, a herald of death. Diaval's last moments had finally arrived. The hungry, hungry hole was swallowing him whole, allowing his spirit to travel through dimensions. Diaval had one last thought of his family before everything went black.

But that’s when it happened. Just in time. The phoenix emerald was broken, freeing the confined pucà within. In the grim cave, the macabre archway lit up in an explosion of viridescent swirls of magic. Violently shaking, the portal caved in. Boulders began falling from the ceiling of the cave, causing part of it to collapse. It was total chaos!

The glow intensified as Diaval was pulled out of the arch, his body reforming at the same time. As if in a trance, he was engulfed in a halo of bright magic. Wisps of light danced about him, spiralling and twirling around his limbs, coating them in healing magic. His whole being shone with enchanted energy as the powerful vortex elevated him towards the surface, towards life. Swirls of murmurs wove it, susurrating their prophecy in harmony. Their echo rang in every inch of Diaval’s body, freeing it from the frozen curse and seeding life in it once more.

Diaval gasped, his eyes blinking open. Barely conscious, he witnessed a glimpse of a dark shadow, overlooking him through the thick golden haze, before its intense luminosity caused him to seal his eyes shut again. Now that he was awake, the healing verses grew louder and louder, raining on him, seeping through the pores of his very being and crossing the invisible boundaries to his soul until he couldn’t bear it anymore. He screeched, trying his best to mute out the eerie whispers. But it was ineffective. They continued their macabre waltz until he blacked out, giving in to the magnetic grip the shadow held on his mind. Cursed he was no more, but a pawn he soon would be.

* * *

_Raven, raven, raven, little black gem_

_Feathers of the night, prize of the twilight_

_Ebony eyes, death’s poem_

__Servant of the evil, knight of the fright_ _

__Raven, raven, raven, an ill omen_ _

_Still, your gaze lingers,_

_Futile purpose, long forgotten_

_Son of acerbic disasters_

_Raven, raven, raven, its essence barren_

_Frozen, your heart shall be thawed_

_If you follow my lead_

_By the will of the skies, genesis will be cawed_

_By the tears of the queen, I’ll be freed_

_Raven, raven, raven, a spirit’s emblem_

_Indeed, from pain, love shall sprout_

_A light from the shadows shall spring_

_But, beware, clouds will soon scout_

_The corrupted scar, in hiding_

_Raven, raven, raven my requiem_

_The faerie ring you must destroy_

_For you dwell in the shadows of eternal mayhem_

_Frustration and despair’s envoy_

_Raven, raven, raven last anthem_

_By fate your soul I shall reclaim_

_One we once were, one in tandem_

_I will once more proclaim!_

_Raven, raven, raven!_

With a last powerful burst of magic, Diaval was brought back to life. A quiet breeze brushed his feathers, gently nudging him awake. Confused, the raven man opened his dark eyes.

“Rest darling” Maleficent murmured, a relieved smile lightening her features. “Rest. You are safe now”. With a content caw, Diaval snuggled up closer to Maleficent’s comforting warmth and let sleep consume him once more.

Overwhelmed by sheer joy, Maleficent let her tears flow. Years of denied emotions were suddenly released all at once, a waterfall of anger, angst, regret, but mostly, of love. She wasn’t afraid of it anymore. Too often she had almost lost those most precious to her. She wouldn’t allow it to happen ever again. Everything had returned to the way it always should have been. She loved and hoped again, something she never thought could have been possible. Now she knew that she was blessed. Never again would she doubt it. The Moors had disappeared around her. Dark fey and landscape all went mute. It was only her and Diaval, huddled in their own cozy world of feathers and wings. At peace she finally was.

An ethereal aurora shone brightly in the sky for two days after that. As if celebrating Diaval’s resurrection. Or perhaps, it was veiled clue to something much more threatening, yet unknown.

_End of flashback_

* * *

And now, years later, here they were, mourning the loss of their daughter, long after the destruction of the faerie ring. The legend had assured the couple that Morik’ a’s soul would be removed from Diaval’s own after freeing the trapped gods on the island of Tech Duinn, but perhaps things had worked out in a slightly different way… The years after Nacryless’s unexplained disappearance were excruciating. Maleficent and Diaval absolutely wouldn’t accept that their daughter had vanished. The sole thought that she was alive and threatened somewhere fueled their despair. For weeks, they would fly miles and miles searching for her, paying no attention to the burning strain and physical exhaustion their wings endured. They fought through it, blinded by love and rage. They had tried everything conceivable and even the unthinkable. But nothing did it. No magic nor keen senses could locate Nacryless. She had simply vanished into thin air like a shadow, shied away by light.

The more they searched, the more desperate they became. Maleficent had especially taken it hard. Over the ineluctable course of time, she had grown more distant and secretive. She had also gotten thinner, losing the flattering curves she had once had. While her dishevelled appearance was one of a morose person, she still wore the gaze of fierceness and determination. Aurora’s love came as a great help, aiding the Phoenix to heal, but it also held a major setback: Riordan. Maleficent couldn’t bear seeing him grow up and experiencing the life of a young child. Soon, he would become a fine lad and it killed her inside. It pained her too much to think about her deceased son and her missing daughter. She could see them in him. She should have been able to witness her children’s mistakes and laughter as they played in the Moors: Korr’s awkward first flight, his wings too big for his frail body, Nacryless’s first mud fight with the wallerbogs… Such thoughts plagued her mind day and night, robbing her of much-needed sleep and fueling her descent towards fury. She couldn’t help it. Nothing could hurt Maleficent more than the loss of a loved one. Just the fact of having such thoughts scarred her. She felt guilty of everything that had happened, but she felt even more guilty for being jealous of her cherished Beastie. She didn’t deserve it, none of it was her fault. But the faerie's emotions still got the best of her.

Over time, Maleficent became more distant towards her eldest daughter, refusing to listen to her advice and burying herself even deeper within herself. When Aurora stopped visiting her godmother, Maleficent didn’t leave the Moors to visit her either. Of course, Aurora was still the queen of the Moors, but she spent less and less time there, as Ulstead was suffering from a severe drought. It required her whole attention. The dark faerie understood of course, but it still pained her that the hole in her heart had spread to neighbouring kingdoms, corrupting the once lush lands with bitter poison and ruining her relationship with her goddaughter. It was the last blow. Her resolve completely faded. Instead of travelling the world, she seemed to look for answers, inside her own mind. She would no longer eat nor drink by herself, too absorbed by her loss to think about anything else.

Once, Maleficent would have been too proud to allow something like this to happen. But times change and Maleficent’s typical mask of stoïcness and bitter jokes hid her pain. Pain so deep that it had seemed to suffocate her from inside out. Diaval was the only pillar keeping her somewhat sane. Through his own sorrow and guilt, he had supported his mate, never once leaving her side. He knew that it times like this, she needed him more than ever. He knew that he had to be strong for her and for Aurora, who still visited him sometimes, anxious to get news from her godparents. Sweet girl, always so thoughtful even after enduring the pain of rejection. The only thing keeping her from leaping into her mother’s arms besides Ulstead, was the fear of causing her even more harm. At least Diaval was there to reassure her. And it provided him with relief as well, seeing his fledgling was like a breath of fresh air in a wave of neverending torments. He was glad to have her by his side, otherwise, he feared that all would be lost. His role as Maleficent’s counsellor had helped him overcome his own fears and grief, using the same words of advice on himself, but it wasn’t enough. Humane communication was the best of cures for his anxiety. Maleficent had tried to be there for him too, but she was becoming less skilled at it, the longer she stayed without news of Nacryless. She was restless, sometimes even talking to the walls like they could answer her calls.

On such days, Diaval could feel his hope dwindling. He often wondered if his mate would ever be the same again. Would she be strong enough to defy her sorrow? To move on? He had no clue. He had tried, multiple times, to nudge her in the right direction. Once, he had gotten her to eat on her own again and she had even gone for a flight with him that day. He had foolishly believed that she was well again. Unfortunately, he couldn't have been more wrong. Soon after, she relapsed, deeper than she had ever been before. Despite all of this, Diaval swore to himself that he would always love Maleficent back. She was his mate and ravens were loyal birds. He would stay by her side, even if it meant losing everything or cost another twenty years. He didn’t care. Love didn’t fade so easily. That’s why he would try again and again to bring her back. And that day, seemed to be worth a try.

“Maleficent,” Diaval whispered. She ignored him, completely lost in her own world of fantasies.

“Maleficent” Diaval repeated a little bit louder. His voice echoed on the walls of the cavern where she hid.

“Diaval, did you hear that?” Maleficent replied after a tense silence. “Nacryless is coming back! I, I saw her! She’s all grown up now, she’s coming back! Oh, I’m so happy! I thought she was dead!” Giggling, she dragged herself from her nest to hug him tightly. A rare smile lit her strained features. 

Diaval had not seen her smile in ages. To be honest, he didn’t even remember when the last time had been! It felt like a lifetime ago. Seeing her so happy and thrilled broke his heart. It was extremely sad that she had become so lost that she had found happiness where there was none to be found. She was insane but living a dream, while he was lucid, but living a nightmare. He was crushed. He didn’t want to see her like this anymore. He felt so guilty! As if it was his fault that she was that far gone. He didn’t want to be the one to break her bubble. But he had to. It was his duty to nurse her back to health, even if it killed him to do so. He had sworn to never hurt her, but this time, it was for her own sake. He was well aware that his morality would crush her but no less than it would harm him. Inhaling deeply, he took her hand in his and looked at her intently, a serious expression on his face.

“Maleficent. Nacryless-”

“Will come back! I know!”

“No. Listen to me, I-...” He gently cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Our daughter is gone Maleficent. Sh-she has been for four years now darling.”

“NO! That can’t be! I don’t believe you! She’s right here, she’s” Maleficent frantically looked around, tears welling in her eyes. “I swear, she was here, I could hold her, I…”

“Shhh, I know. It’s okay.” Diaval murmured, gently stroking her matted hair.

“Have I gone crazy Diaval?” Maleficent asked in a rare moment of lucidity. Her voice quavered, as she desperately scoured his face in an attempt to obtain an answer.

“No darlin’ you ain't crazy. You are just a mother mourning her children. Children that never should have left your side in the first place. The world is a cruel, cruel place, filled with miseries and bad luck. Sometimes, life keeps hitting on the best people for no apparent reason. Maybe she wants to teach us a lesson, to never give up. Or maybe we have to learn to let go. Perhaps letting go of all of our rage, melancholy and shame is the first step to take.” Diaval replied wisely.

“NEVER! I’ll never give away my daughter! I want to see her again, I can’t, she cannot be dead!” she screamed, choking on a sob.

“Yes you can Maleficent. You are strong, you are beautiful and I know you can do this. I’ll always be with you, I promise.“ Maleficent sobbed her heart out, hanging on firmly to her mate, the last anchor holding her in place through a tsunami of emotions.

“I, I don’t think I can Diaval” Maleficent murmured, sheer despair shining in her gorgeous hazel eyes.

“Then time will heal us Maleficent. Time and love. I promise you, one day, we will get out of this mess and we shall do this together. Do you understand me?” She nodded hesitantly, then, more vigorously.

“Good.” Diaval kissed her forehead in a reassuring gesture. “I love you Maleficent.”

“I love you too”

Chuckling sadly, Diaval proceeded to lull her to sleep, carefully preening her wings with as much dedication and affection as possible. 

And so, the poor bird continued to care for his mate, dismissing his own feelings of helplessness and remorse for her sake, hence allowing a dark parasite to creep up on him and to catch him off guard. He was oblivious to it at first, but as it gnawed more and more on his resilience, parts of his soul gradually faded away. He became a whisper of the humorous and free-spirited raven he had once been. With both of them struggling to keep their lives together, the Moors were to be troubled by darkness and sorrow, until a gift from the gods themselves came down from the heavens, restoring light and peace once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so you just witnessed my first detailed attempt at describing Maleficent and Diaval's emotions after losing their daughter. I didn't feel too comfortable writing this, because I'm not sure to have seized the characters' personalities in their entirety.
> 
> I wasn't too sure how they would react facing such difficult emotions. I tried to base myself off of Maleficent's reaction when she lost her wings, but it proved to be a complex task since she has had such huge character development in the years following her betrayal. I wanted to do her and Diaval justice and hopefully, it wasn't too bad. 
> 
> And if it was, make sure to tell me! At least I will have given it a shot. I can't get better if I don't practice right? 
> 
>   
> *TRANSLATION* The words written in the ancient language are actually Scottish Gaelic. Here is a short traduction: "Spirits and ghouls, may Donn claim your lonely souls. Wander you shall, spread sorrow and destruction in your wake!"  
> If you speak Scottish Gaelic, feel free to correct me if some words are inaccurate. Google Translate isn't as good as a native speaker! ;)


	4. Welcome to the nether

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNING: This chapter and the next one are very sad. They address subjects such as domestic violence, hunger, poverty, famine, child auction, slavery and women discrimination. Those are very hard topics to speak of, but some of them were necessary in order to be accurate with the time period. Being set somewhere in the Middle Ages, the universe of Maleficent is understandably lacking some modern ideologies. Women were sadly considered lesser beings and children were often abandoned or sold by their families, especially in poorer households. 
> 
> Because of how dark my story is getting, I also changed the rating to mature. Some scenes are pretty graphic, but they are not too explicit. I don't want to torture your feelings more than necessary. ;)
> 
> Please keep that in mind while reading this chapter. If such topics bother you, then don't scroll any further. 
> 
> Thank you for your understanding.

_Ding dong! Ding galing aling!_

“Matthew, Alice, Emma! Dinner is ready!” Roberta called loudly, her powerful voice reverberating across the withered wheat fields that sprawled pitifully below the small mound of dirt she was standing on. The past few years had not been merciful to the peasants living in the countryside of Perceforest. The once arable land had suddenly been stripped of life, bruised by the pain of a devilish legend, only leaving noxious crops and arid soils as a lesson to the already poor families. Everything had happened in a blink of an eye. A tremendous shadow had emerged from the foreign forest up in the northeast, growing in size until even the sun himself knelt before its power. No one had ever witnessed a phenomenon like this before. Screams of dismay and terror were the only eerie melody that lingered over the fields as the leviathan made its way across the kingdom, spreading death and misery in its wake.

Ever since then, the rent and taxes had skyrocketed to ensure the well-being of the lords and knights. They were not oblivious to the distress of the commons, only they rathered feasting on their misery and giving a toast to the money quenching their thirst for greed. As long as the rich were happy, they would not intervene. Let the peasants starve, they said, at the rate at which they multiply, the dead won’t even cause the kingdom harm. It was true that households in the country often held more than ten inhabitants but it would be a mistake to assume that their downfall wouldn’t impact the upper class. They were the tenders of the land, after all, the invisible pillars to a prosperous kingdom. Having so many offspring was encouraged by the local church, as they received God’s grace in return, but it also grew the unseen army of hardworking producers, adding more hands dedicated to the welfare of the fields. 

Though sadly, in uncertain times, the children became an extra burden to bear. One the serfs were not apt to meet. And sometimes, this gave place to unfortunate events to occur...

* * *

Roberta and her husband Frank for their part had had nine children in total, four of which had sadly passed away many years ago. They had lost two in childbirth, and two others had fallen prey to different illnesses: leprosy and the white plague. Such diseases were common but no less deadly. The local doctor had tried drawing the devil out of their frail bodies by using leeches, without much success. His herbal remedies hadn’t done much either. Even the family’s prayers had remained unheard. God had decided to claim their young souls early, welcoming them way too soon in heaven’s arms. The whole family was devastated of course, but they considered themselves lucky to still have five healthy children. Most weren’t so blessed, often seeing their progeny decimated long before they could reach their first birthday. 

And so, they cherished their youngsters, grateful to see them live long enough to help maintain the farm in an acceptable enough sate. There was Greta, the eldest with a very loving and caring personality, Mark, the rebellious one, Matthew and Alice the twins and… Emma. What to say about her... Emma was, well, sort of the black sheep of the family. Being the youngest, she often got herself into all sorts of taboo things. For instance, she would often be found playing in the mud, or with tiny beasts such as bugs and rodents. She would also do many “non-girly” things like attempting to learn to fight with her older brother Matthew or refusing to touch the formal robes her mother strove to make her wear. But despite her few quirks, Emma was a sweet-natured girl, with a kind temperament. She always made sure that the farm animals were well taken care of. She would spend hours upon hours in the barn, playing with them, feeding them secret treats and brushing the horses’ mane. She was nature’s daughter, Roberta always said. Free and beautiful, but also wild when provoked. She resembled her mother in some ways. 

That evening was no different. Emma came back wearing the proof of her daily discoveries. After working outside all day and helping her mother completing all the chores in the kitchen, Roberta had allowed her to go play with her brother and sister in the rotting fields. For their part, Greta and Mark had both decided to stay inside, the first to help her mother cook dinner and the latter, to repair a part of the thatch roof with his father. Having already retreated to the dining table, they couldn’t help but laugh out loud when they saw their sister enter the familial cottage.

It was no surprise to them to find her with twigs entangled in her long brown locks and with dirt staining her hands, but it seemed she always found a new way of astonishing them. 

“Oh Emma” Roberta sighed, “I’ll have to give you a bath after your meal, again” 

“Sorry mom, it’s just that there was an unkindness of ravens out there in the field, trying to eat the last scraps of corn! I had to talk them through it, they’re really stubborn you know” 

“I don't think the ravens could understand a word of what you said, but thank you for defending our last crops darling. It was very nice of you.” Roberta chuckled, “But next time, try to stay a bit cleaner will you?”

“Yes mother, please forgive me,” Emma said sincerely. You could see that she meant it, her eyes shining with bits of shame and consternation. She slightly bowed her head, waiting for her mother’s reassuring words. 

“It’s okay love. You’re already forgiven,” she answered lightly, giving Emma a gentle pat on the head. She giggled, content with the extra attention. 

Roberta couldn’t help but smile at her daughter’s antics. Always trying to help even if she was impossibly awkward at doing it. It was a considerate attention of her, trying to defend the already harvested corn, but unfortunately, it wouldn’t do the family much good. At least the intention was there. In time, she would learn and grow into a fine young lady. But that was not the moment for it yet. At her age, trying her best was what mattered really, that’s how Roberta could tell that she’d raised her well. She couldn’t help beaming a little, her heart swelling with joy. It made her feel warm inside. Pure moments like this one were a seldom occurrence these days. It was truly refreshing. 

Regrettably, her moment of satisfaction was cut short by her grumpy husband.

“Are you two done talking? I’m hungry over here” he mumbled.

“Sorry Frank, dinner is coming in just a minute. Emma, Alice and Matthew, go sit down at the dining table please, your meal is about to be served.” 

A few seconds later, Roberta made her way to the small wooden table, carefully balancing five plates in her arms. 

After handing the bowls to her relatives, she let herself fall on a chair with a humph, her stubby legs exhausted after a long day tending to the chores of the household. 

But Frank didn't seem to be satisfied with her culinary skills. “That’s all? Rabbit stew and a morsel of bread, for dinner? Couldn’t you have cooked somethin’ tastier for me? Last I recall, there were a few carrots left in the garden.” he said, looking at his plate with utter disgust

“My kids deserved the last crumbs more than you do,” Roberta replied bitterly. 

Frank choked on his mouthful. “Don’t you dare say what I think you mean, woman” he snarled.

Roberta scoffed. “ Congratulations! You do have a brain in there. Yes, our children ate the last carrots. They need extra nutrients to grow strong and healthy. How else will we get the help we need on the farm?” Her argument made sense, but Frank wasn’t having it. He was done being led all the time by his wife. Such things happened frequently in Perceforest, but she was still his property! As the man of the family, it was his job to teach her a lesson. One she should have learnt long ago. 

By the look on their father’s face, the five kids silently slipped away from the kitchen, anticipating that a storm was about to ensue. They retreated to the communal sleeping area, at the far end of the small house, just in time. Frank’s anger would no longer be contained.

His blood was boiling, as he quickly rose from his chair, violently kicking it to the ground.

“How DARE YOU!” he yelled, his face taking a dangerous red tint. “I am the father of this household! I am the strongest and I deserve the best foods! How many times must I remind you that?” 

His nose was almost touching Roberta’s but she did not flinch. 

Keeping her ground, she retorted: “ You may be the boss of the household as you say, but I, as a woman, am the one responsible for raising my children. And I will do so as I please. Oh, and if you’d ever get your hands dirty instead of drinking mead all day then perhaps you’d understand why we don’t have carrots anymore!” She paused, taking a deep breath, before continuing her rant. “ I fed them all to the kids a whole week ago! And if you don’t like my cooking, then go ahead and do it yourself!” Frustrated, she turned her heels and stormed out of the house, leaving a dumbstruck Frank behind. 

“I’m- I’m better than that!” he yelled back after a long delay that spoke volumes. 

His confusion didn’t last for long though. Composing himself, he skidded across the room and followed her onto the porch, slamming the door behind him. 

Although muted, Roberta and Frank's argument remained crystal clear for their children. They were used to hearing their parents argue, it was a daily occurrence in the household. But it had never been so intense before. 

Greta, the sixteen-year-old, ushered her younger siblings closer. Being the eldest, she had witnessed the most fights and knew how badly most of them ended. It wasn’t a rare occurrence that one would end up with a black eye or a bruised leg as a side effect of flying vases or windmill arms. Both were very commonly seen. 

Usually, the kids waited outside or went to sleep in their shared straw bed, but this time, Greta felt like they needed extra protection. Especially Emma. She was quite fond of the girl, but she knew very well that her father was not. This conversation in particular didn’t seem to be the most favourable for her. 

Outside the old wooden home, the argument continued, gaining even more intensity. It was approaching its climax, the crucial moment where either all hell broke loose or either the tempest disappeared on its own, subsiding as quickly as it had arrived. 

“You know what, maybe you’re right” Frank admitted. “Maybe the kids do deserve more. But we cannot afford better! Times are hard and there is nothing we can do. We aren’t gods Roberta, nor do we have noble status. What do you expect me to do as a husband, as a father? I’m already generous enough to let you and the girls eat at the same time as me and the boys! What do you want more?”

“I expect you to do whatever you can for your family. It is YOUR duty to protect us, as it is mine to feed you and to raise my children. And I refuse to believe that nothing can be done. If you don't go ahead and beyond then I will. My kids are my life and I will do absolutely everything in my power to assure their safety.” she roared, her intimidating gaze not quitting once her spouse’s. 

“Hmm.” Frank said pensively, sitting heavily on a bench near the front door. “I understand.” he sighed. “There might be something I could do, but I doubt you’ll like it.”

“Then do it! Whatever it is, just do it!” she exclaimed, her voice a pitiful plea. One of a desperate woman whose last hope was far beyond her, so far away that she couldn’t herself reach for it without help. It pained her to be so vulnerable, but if this was what it took to save her kids, then she’d do it a thousand more times without hesitation. 

A wicked smile lit Frank’s features. This was the answer he had been waiting for. His words had been carefully planned, each sentence a painful blow judiciously designed to push his wife in the right direction. He knew how frantic she was for the safety of her children. If he could only bring her to admit it aloud, then the game would be won. And she had. By voicing her fears, she had unknowingly sealed her daughter’s fate. In the end, love will have been both her saviour and her damnation. 

“Very well.” Frank nodded curtly, before excusing himself. With a swift punch, he kicked the door open, reentering the small home. His hawk eyes ferociously searched for their prey in the falling darkness. With a self-satisfied grin, he strode towards a terrified Emma. Her eyes wide as moons stared at him in utter shock when he grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to her feet. 

“Come” he growled threateningly. 

“Frank, what are you doing? FRANK!” Roberta shrieked. “Where are you taking my daughter?”

“I’m taking her where she should have been all along.”

“DON’T. YOU. DARE!” Roberta thundered. You have no right to take her from me. She belongs here, in this house. 

“I thought you wanted to save your kids” Frank mocked. 

“I do, I… I-” Roberta’s face fell as realization dawned on her. “No” she whispered. “You can’t do this. Frank, I BEG you. Please. Don’t do this to me.”

“Oh, I sure can. You just gave me permission. Anything you wish, remember?” he smirked. 

“I never- I didn’t mean it like this, I- oh” Roberta burst into tears, rage burning in every inch of her body. Maddened, she stomped courageously towards her insane husband, desperately trying to do something to stop the inevitable. She was infuriated at him for betraying her so, but she was even more resentful at herself. How could she have not seen this coming? How could her own words initiate something like this? It was so unfair! 

A harsh blow stopped her in her tracks. She stood bewildered as she wiped the stream of blood trickling down her brow. Never her husband had beat her. Not even in the worst of arguments had he hurt her. He had always calmed down before doing something he would later regret. They had gone through so much together! She thought he loved her. This hurt her more than it should have. She hadn't realized that she had gotten so attached to him over the years. She hated him at first, having fallen in love with another before their forced wedding. But as time passed she had slowly learnt how to tolerate him. She might even admit to herself that she had begun to feel for him. But that night, whatever feelings she had for him vanished, scorched by her blazing feud. Fifteen years of companionship fell apart, completely broken beyond repair. Trust may be the strongest fortress, carefully assembled over time, each individual brick a witness of love and compassion, but it only takes one well-placed bullet of hatred to shatter it all, no matter how tall or how long it used to be. And once they collapse, old walls are often abandoned, rarely given enough care and time to be mended back to health. 

Taking advantage of her vulnerability, Frank spat words that would forever wreck Roberta’s world. “Why do you care so much anyway? She’s not even your kin.” he sneered. This was the last punch annihilating an already broken Roberta. She didn’t care if her daughter was adopted or not, she was her mother and would always love her, no matter what. She only wished Emma never knew about it, to spare her the shame of her true origins. And the way she now uncovered the truth was simply unbearable. Her poor daughter. In what mess had she gotten her into? It was all her fault. Guilt stricken, she slipped to her knees, bawling her life out. 

Roberta had always been a very proud woman. If it wasn’t for the circumstances, never would she have allowed herself to cry out in front of her family. She constantly held her head high, commanding view of those she judged inferior. Never once did she lose an argument against her nosy neighbours. She was proud of her brats and made sure that they were the most presentable and knowledgeable kids of the whole district and that, even if they were extremely poor. It only took a word from her powerful voice to gather them all around her. Her bulky and short stature held no match for her imposing stance. They obeyed her finger and eye. She was the matriarch and sweat respect. Other women knew best than to challenge her. Otherwise, a harsh stare and bad words sent them scurrying away. 

But despite her fierce demeanour, Roberta had a soft spot for young children. She thoroughly enjoyed brushing her daughter’s long hair and singing her little ones bedtime hymns. This woman could scare away an army of soldiers, but couldn’t resist the cries of a young baby. This is why she had been so keen to adopt Emma as one of her own. The poor babe had probably been crying for hours before a kind soul found her in that smelly ditch. She was covered in sewer water from head to toe, screaming for food and comfort.

Child abandonment was common in those regions. Young maids without a husband often discarded the fruit of their adultery in the woods to avoid public whipping or worse, lapidation. Sadly, the innocent babies, born of nonmarital union usually knew a sad fate, that of becoming wolf food. Emma probably would have lost her life the same way, hadn’t it been for Roberta passing by. Shocked, she had gently picked her up, bringing her to her breast, where the little girl had hungrily latched on, cooing with contentment. The middle-aged woman was well-aware of the risks of raising an illegitimate child, but having miscarried her own baby a few weeks ago, it was understandable that her emotions pretty much had the best of her. 

But she never thought it all could have played against her one day. 

Unlike her, her husband Frank was a much stone-hearted individual. Being very faithful to religion, he was terrified that Diablo himself would come up from hell to punish him if he ever committed a sin. But of course, he would never admit it in front of Roberta. She would see this as an opportunity to mock his beliefs and manness. As distraught as he was, he couldn’t confess to the local priest as it would bring him shame and hatred from the part of the other villagers. He was responsible of his wife’s actions and would be blamed for her mistake. Plus, ratting his wife out was one of the said sins he was not willing to commit. He deeply loved her, even if he wasn’t sure it was reciprocal. Their union, fruit of forced marriage, wasn’t meant to be a peaceful and loving one. But from the moment he had seen her, Frank had fallen in love with her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and back in the day, he had promised himself to do everything to protect her from harm and to love her with all he had. Lord Byron had chosen well. 

But his amorous feelings didn’t stop him from disapproving her decision. For days, he refused to talk to her, denying her right to speak, even going as far as forcing her to sleep in the cold a couple of times. As much as he hated it, it was his last resort against his wife’s unbeatable determination. She simply wouldn’t give in. She even stopped assuming her duty in the kitchen, only preparing enough food for herself and her offspring, voluntarily ignoring her husband when he came back home late at night. She declined his every advance, stubbornly hanging on to her adopted daughter. After months and months of conflict, Frank learned to endure Emma. But he never really got over their fiery argument. 

As a result of it, he always held a grudge against Emma, as a form of retaliation to what he considered like betrayal from the part of Roberta. The child was not of his own blood and thus, she didn’t deserve his love. To him, she was an embodied demon, the sole responsible for his misery, despite having barely lived six springs. But to Frank, that was more than enough time. His patience had come to an end. 

That evening, he was finally getting his revenge, one that he had patiently awaited for six years until the right occasion occurred. And now, everything was coming together. Food and money had gotten scarce due to the terrible illness affecting the crops. His family was in enormous need of both and Roberta knew it. She had tried to hide her concern beneath poorly executed smiles and pointless quarrels but Frank had been smart enough to use it at his advantage. That night, she had given him the power to do anything. And he was going to seize it. 

“Come, Emma, we’re leaving.” 

“MOM! Emma screamed as her father figure dragged her across the dirt path and to his newly repaired carriage. “MOM!” 

Her heartbroken screams echoed long through the night as the cart pulled out of the driveway and onto the main road to the city. 

Devastated, Roberta cried all night, surrounded by her four remaining children, stroking her hair and hugging her tightly, ineffectively trying to lend her some love and hope. The truth is, they too missed their sister. They too felt betrayed and lost. What would happen to them? Would they all be slowly taken away from each other? Would Greta be forced into marriage? They prayed together that night, sending all their faith to the gods, pleading them to do something. To light Emma's path, to bring her home. To spare her the worst of destinies. To preserve her innocence and salvage her soul. Together they prayed, that the evil in the world shall never win over the good. 

* * *

The macabre journey lasted all night. Tied up and muzzled, Emma shook in fear beneath a thick woollen tarp. What would happen to her now? Why was Frank so mean? "Who were her real parents if she had been adopted? Where was she going now? Nothing made sense to the six-year-old. Her mind was still too pure to understand such concepts like animosity and social injustice. But sadly, she was soon to learn. Exhausted, she fell in an agitated slumber, her dreams clouded by nightmares of death and hurt. 

When the red halo of dawn painted the skies the colour of blood, the wooden cart crossed the gates to the city, marking both the birth of a new day, but also the beginning of a new life for Emma. For a few more hours, it continued its course, until it finally reached its final destination: Perceforest’s local market. 

No longer hushed by the damp earth that paved the country’s road, the familiar clip-clop of the horse’s hooves was now accented whenever they hit the smooth stone bricks of the city’s main boulevard. The odd rhythmic sound was enough to wake the young girl. 

A few moments later, they came to a halt. They had finally arrived downtown. Emma was surprised to discover how loud everything was outside of the chariot. She had always been used to the country’s peaceful silence, only occasionally broken by the strident crowing of a territorial rooster or by her parents’ heated arguments. 

But the city was a much busier place. Now, she could hear the shouts from an affairs negotiation and the bursts of laughter of young boys running through the narrow streets of the city. The Grand Market. How many times had she begged her mother to bring her there, only to be shushed with no as an answer. It was too dangerous, she had always been told. 

Why? The answer was quite simple. Ever since the passage of the deadly shadow, the crops had mysteriously been affected by virulent mould and by the insatiable hunger of thousands of gigantic insects the peasants had never seen before. The rain which had once been abundant had also become a rare sighting and when it did rain, the fields found themselves flooded by acidic and toxic water which gnawed at the young plants and compromised their production for the rest of the year. The farmlands closer to the Moors had been more affected than those further away, but not a single family had been spared by the disastrous wave. Ever since then, the peasants were less and less present in the markets, having very little food to sell. Over time, they had become despised and unwelcome in the city. They were seen as corrupt individuals, carrying sickness and bad luck wherever they went. The city had truly become an undesirable place for farmers. They stood out with their ragged and dirty clothes, thereby becoming an easy target for public wrath. 

This phenomenon got even worse when the global council decided to reopen the unused iron mines in a smart attempt to salvage Perceforest’s economy. The kingdom was stocked with it. After King Stefan’s passing, Queen Aurora had ordered to shut down the mines. She preached for peace between the Moorfolk and the humans and to do so, the threatening iron had had to go. But the queen had since left her native kingdom for Ulstead, where she happily lived with her husband and son. The leadership of the kingdom had therefore fallen into the hands of the people, well, of seven influential lords to be exact. They didn’t care about peace or any honest matters, all they strove for was the economic betterment of their city, and tons of iron mines were right there, at their disposal, ready to spring back into action. The weak queen, as they called her, wasn’t there to order them around, so what was stopping them? Nothing. The answer was absolutely nothing. And so, they did. Old chimneys coughed dark smoke once more, as the bowels of the earth were stripped of their precious minerals. Farmers, perhaps there were no more, but blacksmiths, locksmiths, armourers, traders and middle-class customers flooded the markets, keeping them buzzing with activity, day and night. The cultivators’ growing absence only gave reason to the untrue rumours and allowed acrimony to flourish even more than it had before the redemption of the iron industry. 

Humans were odd creatures really. Their limited nature making them hate what they don’t understand. And so, the rich blamed the poor and the poor blamed the Moors, forests of the unknown, haven of magic and victim of wrongful legends. One could only hope that peace would one day reign over prejudice.

Her mother’s warnings echoing in her mind, Emma covered her ears with her hands. She needed time to think. Normally, she would have been delighted to leave the fields of the countryside to explore the dark blotch that veiled the horizon, but given the grim circumstances of her arrival, she was more concerned than anything else. Would men be as hostile towards her as Frank and Roberta feared? Would they shoo them away from the city in fear of death? She wasn’t too sure anymore, despite her strong beliefs.

The young girl had never believed in the evil of men. To her, they were all born good, but some were sadly profaned by hatred throughout their lives. But even so, she trusted that they could still heal if shrouded with enough love and empathy. But after what had happened to her the night prior, her mindset had been shaken a little, allowing shards of doubt to weaken her faith. A million questions plagued her soul, nagging intently at her resolve.

Luckily, they would soon be answered. Frank suddenly lifted the cover, startling Emma and sending a blast of light in the previously pitch-black cart. She instinctively shielded her sensitive eyes from it, taking a few moments to adjust before analyzing her surroundings. By the position of the sun in the sky, she could tell that it was close to midday. 

Around her proudly stood many two-story buildings. Their tinder frame encompassed with wattle and daub shaped their walls. Numerous clay tiles protected their roofs from the weather fits and displayed their owners’ superior status. Back in the country, roofs were made of thatch, a cheap and readily available material. But unfortunately, it wasn't very hardy and had to be frequently replaced in order to avoid leaks. But that didn’t seem to be a problem for the inhabitants of the city. The humble shops that adorned their house’s entrance, assured them a fair amount of income by displaying a variety of fresh goods and manufactured items to the customers. The fragrance of fresh bread made Emma’s belly rumble with anticipation. She took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious aromas. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had eaten freshly baked pastries or tasty vegetables harvested from the garden. It felt like such a long time ago. When she tried to scrape the multiple layers of her memory to visit her earliest souvenirs, she found herself staring at a blank canvas. No long-forgotten images painted it with their dull colours. That could only mean one thing - she had never experienced the satisfying feeling of eating her fill. It startled her to realize that she had actually never been well-fed. Of course, there had been better times, but the fields had been dying for as long as she was alive! There was no before! 

To her, eating only two meals a day was normal. She had never thought that it was possible to cook so much food! All that was left for dinner back at home was stale canned potatoes and dry morsels of bread, nothing compared to what the gentry ate inside the city’s walls. How lucky they were, being still able to satiate their hunger by trading with the thriving neighbouring kingdoms! 

She could only see one farmer stand in the market from where she was standing, but it sold much more food than she had ever seen in her life. Ripe apples, pears, carrots, onions, cabbage and other foodstuffs she knew no name of embellished the maple table they were sat on. She could feast on it for days! She unconsciously licked her lips, fantasizing about all the delicious flavours the food would explode in, in her mouth. She could feel the crunch of a heavenly apple, its fruity juices flooding her palate, the soft taste of warm cabbage soup, the- 

Frank abruptly pulled her out of her passionate reverie. 

“Are you coming or what? I don’t have all day” he said annoyedly.

“But, but..” Noticing the severe glare he shot at her, Emma thought better than to further argue. “Sorry” she finally mumbled under her breath. 

“Then come on!” Reluctantly, Emma jumped down from the cart, allowing Frank to grab her arm.

He led her through the cramped lanes of the city, zigzagging through the maze of people and shops. He determinedly made his way through the growing crowd, jostling between the thick wool robes of women and leather jackets of men until he reached a deserted alley. The roofs of two houses almost joined together there, shadowing the reassuring warmth of the sun. A rivulet of waste soiled the stone road, attracting hordes of rats eagerly feasting on the remnants of past meals and human feces. The stench of decomposition stained the air with its thick fumes. Frank quickly moved pass them, scaring away the nasty rodents and dragging his adoptive daughter behind. 

“Frank, where are we going? It stinks over here” Emma complained in a pitiful voice, wrinkling her nose.

“Stop lamenting Emma, we’re almost there. I believe our final destination is just at the end of this alley” he asserted.

His assumption was correct. Up ahead was another plaza, squared by homes and of course, congested with people. They were all clearly waiting for something to begin. As the couple got closer, Emma noticed that the buyers were all very well dressed men. Noblemen. Those she had so often heard Frank rant about. Those too lazy to grow their own food. Those who he claimed guilty of his family’s misery. They paid no attention to the two peasants, their minds elsewhere, fortunately for them. Following their gaze, Emma noticed a stage overlooking the plaza. Three empty wooden cages were sat on it, waiting to fulfill their purpose. She shuddered. Whatever they were for didn’t bode well. 

Frank skirted around the platform, where an old bearded man was talking to one of his apprentices. He walked confidently towards him, not at all worried to interrupt his conversation, to introduce himself.

“Good morning dryhten” Frank said, bowing to him. 

“What brings you here earm?” the man asked leerily.

“Desperate times lead to desperate measures sir. I am without means of feeding my family. They are hungry and weak. I-” The man interrupted him, understanding Frank’s point without having the need to listen to the rest of his sentence.

“Spare your voice. I’ll give you 10£ for the girl.”

“That’s all? That’s barely enough to feed my family for a few months!”

“She’s a late addition to the auction, in bad condition, very young and most of all, a peasant. Her origins may complicate her sale ya know. Take it or leave it. You won’t get another offer, the bargain’s about to start. I mustn't keep my customers waiting” the auctioneer said firmly in a very thick Ulsteadian accent. 

Frank stayed silent for a moment and then nodded. He’d do anything to get rid of the girl, even if he sold her off at a ridiculous price. “Fine. She’s yours” The two men shook hands, sealing the deal.

Seeing this, Emma’s eyes widened. She was extremely appalled. What had she done to deserve this? Why didn’t Frank love her anymore? What would happen to her? Would she ever see her family again? Her heart was broken for the second time. She wanted to cry, cry harder than she had ever had, cry until she fell asleep to forget this nightmare, to escape the dreadful reality that was slowly beginning to make sense. But she simply couldn’t. She was too overwhelmed by sadness and sheer shock to make a single sound. Completely numb to what was happening around her, she let the stranger throw her in a cage with seven other children, all looking quite older than her. She could only stare in disbelief as the man she had considered as her father disappeared from sight as he forever turned his back to her, having received the desired amount of money. Was that all she was worth, a handful of coins? A plain object that could be discarded whenever the owner tired of it? No, she thought to herself. “That can’t be true? Can it?” Nothing made sense anymore. Her thoughts were still a swirling mess of despair when mere moments later, the auction began. 

The old merchant pronounced his opening speech, resulting in loud cheers from the audience. 

“Gentlemen!” he said, his voice shushing murmurs amongst the crowd, all eyes were on him. “Here we are, reunited once again this year to Perceforest’s annual "no rights servant" trade! The biggest auction in all of the eastern kingdoms! Where high-quality slaves are imported from all over the world! Today, after an absence of five years, the event is finally back, stronger than ever! 

The cheers were so loud that the auctioneer's voice was buried under their noise. “Thank you, thank you all” he acknowledged, waiting for a few instants to let the screams die down before continuing his monologue. 

“This afternoon, twenty-one candidates are available for purchase! 8 mighty children, 9 sturdy men and 4 devoted women.”

“Hooray!”

“Are you ready?” 

“Yes” they cheered in unison. Their voices one, they roared awaiting the beginnings of an entertaining event, one of the few able to distract their minds from the curse bestowed upon them and from the monetary problems resulting from it. The richest were there to buy, but most were bourgeois watching the scene unfold, in need of distractions from their dull lives.

“ARE YOU READY?” the auctioneer shouted.

“YESSS!” The ground trembled, shaken by the loud waves of excitement and anticipation.

“Then let the auction begin!” he declared, lifting both arms in the air, a gesture of power and command. 

As the crowd clapped and whistled, the bearded man waved to his assistants who were tending to the servants behind the stage, to signal them to come out. They escorted a line of chained prisoners, harshly commanding them to step on the stage and to parade before the potential buyers. The men and women went first. Many sold off quickly for relatively low prices. Having more slaves to choose from occasioned fewer heated arguments for the less desirable individuals. Soon, it was the children’s turn. Only five adult slaves out of thirteen remained. It was time to bring out the highlight of the show. Older children were highly sought after in Perceforest. They lasted longer, cost less than adults and were less rebellious. If terrified enough, owners could make them do almost anything. 

Emma and her fellow cage-mates were forced upon the stage. She could feel the gaze of dozens following her every move, almost burning her skin with shame and embarrassment. She wasn’t supposed to be there, a pupil amongst teenage foreigners and war prisoners. How was she supposed to feel, sold to auction by her parents because she was the most worthless of the family? It was far from being her fault, yet Emma felt responsible for it. Perhaps she should have been a better daughter, more obedient and disciplined. She bowed her head, hiding her grimace of disappointment from view as the man presented her to the public. 

“Child number four. A young female with dark hair. She’ll make a splendid worker in a cotton field or iron factory. She’s a bit scrawny but she’ll toughen up in no time!” A few men raised their hands to propose their deals.

“We’ve got 7 pounds, what else, what else, another offer?” the auctioneer asked. 

“Yes okay, we’ve got twelve pounds over here, fifteen there” He was getting excited, Emma could tell. He was going to make a profit out of her sell.

“Mmm perfect twenty-two pounds, anyone else?” The crowd was silent for a moment. This was getting expensive for such a young child, especially a girl native from the country. 

Suddenly, a man at the back of the crowd raised his hand. He was dressed in fancy black clothes, his robes adorned by a heavy velvet cloak. “I offer thirty-five pounds for the girl” he stated. 

“Thirty-five, thirty-six anyone? No? Alrighty! 1, 2, 3, sold for thirty-five!” The auctioneer gloated. He would never have expected to reach such a high price for his least able contender. She sold at the price of an average woman! It by far exceeded his expectations. 

But although his job was a bringer of misery for the people he sold, the man was still somewhat good-hearted. He couldn’t help but worry for the girl. She couldn’t have been older than seven. Her buyer had bid in a confident manner, he knew what he was coming for. If such a lord was after such a child, then it augured nothing good for her. His fears were confirmed when the mysterious man made his way through the crowd. It moved aside to let him pass, dominated by his majestic and imposing stance. He was a stranger, that was sure. From Ulstead perhaps? From Breoslaigh? None of both kingdoms seemed to suit him. Even the wealthiest noblemen of Perceforest did not match his presence, having all been affected by the bad harvests, even if they tried their best not to show it. He exuded very dark and magnetic energy, which commanded respect. He walked with a determined step towards the platform to claim his new slave. Emma resisted as hard as she could, struggling with all her strength against his hellish grip. Unfortunately, she was impotent against him. A harsh blow in the face sufficed to knock her out. He carried her limp body back to his cart, which looked a lot like her father’s, only it was much more modern. The horses pawed nervously upon his arrival, also disturbed by his malevolent energy. He tossed an unconscious Emma into the cart, without bothering to untie her binds. He climbed aboard, whipped the horses and headed west, leaving the city for a more desolated area of the countryside. The trip was to last several hours, until the sun hid beneath the horizon once more, prepping himself to sleep, for he would hibernate behind a lawyer of clouds for the next few days. Pure rain, exempt of toxins would fall on the kingdom for the very first time in years, a blessing Emma would never get to see.

* * *

A couple of hours in, Emma woke up. Her memory of the past events was foggy but still present nonetheless. Disoriented, she tried to get in a seating position, only to heavily slump on her side again. With a groan, she tried again and again, strainfully dragging herself across the cart, forlornly seeking a grip. 

As she almost succeeded in the trying task, a wagon wheel drove into a shallow puddle, birthing a wave of turbulence so powerful that it sent Emma flying in a corner. Her frail body hardly collided with the wooden wall, instantly bruising her back. 

“Ow,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the linen cloth strapped to her face.

Yelping in pain, the young girl resiliently got back up on her feet and pushed herself upwards with her legs. This time was the right one. Finally, she made it. 

Trembling, she sat up, bringing her knees to her chest. At that moment, she realized just how little she knew of life. How small she was against its course. She was just a little girl. How was she supposed to hold the reins of her own life, when much more powerful individuals dictated her every move? She didn’t understand what was going on. Why had she been sold as a slave? Who was the brutal man that bought her? Where was he taking her? She was so lost. Why was this happening to her? What had she possibly done wrong to deserve this? The same questions crossed her mind over and over, creating a loop of melancholy and defeat. It nagged at her deepest beliefs, causing her to question her understanding of the world around her. Has she always been so horribly wrong or had she only come across the most unfortunate untying of events? 

It was all too much. This time, she was too angry and scared to contain her emotions. She had to let them out, or else. The fear of the unknown, the pain of forskament and the denial of love all flowed freely during the last of the journey. She wept silently as waterfalls of tears, doomed streaks of anguish wounded her, scaring her delicate heart. But the worst was yet to come. 

* * *

The sun was setting when the wagon finally came to a stop. The dying day cried for Emma whose young life had already been shattered beyond repair and that was about to worsen. 

In an oddly familiar manner, the stranger lifted the tarpaulin which previously plunged the wagon into total darkness. Emma shied away from him immediately. She didn’t know who he was, or what he wanted, but her instincts were screaming at her to run. But she couldn’t. She was frozen in fear. Her limbs still bound together, there wouldn’t have been much she could have done anyways. 

The aristocrat grabbed her by the legs, yanking her out of the fancy cart. She made an attempt to kick him, but he easily restrained her.

“Feisty are we” he chuckled. He spoke it in such a creepy way that it made Emma fight him even more. She didn’t want anything to do with this man. 

“Let me go!” she screamed incomprehensibly. 

“Careful,” he said threateningly. “Little girls aren’t allowed to disobey their masters here. Perhaps your father was merciful, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure you kneel to your superiors. You look smart, I’m sure you’ll learn quickly.” he said whilst cutting her binds, but keeping his blade near her throat. “If you ever make a move to escape, I won’t hesitate to kill you, nor won't my apprentices. 

Terrified, Emma gulped. She wanted to go home so badly, but she didn’t want to die either. So she kept still.

“Good girl.” the man said, adjusting his grip on her neck. He was so close that Emma could smell his alcohol drenched breath. She gaged when the stench reached her nostrils. 

“I think it’s time for your first lesson. Call me Master Joe” he grunted as he swiped his iron sword through her long ebony hair. Emma watched in dismay as strands of it fell to the ground. Mama Roberta had always told her that a girl’s hair was her greatest asset. As unladylike as she was, she had nevertheless always taken pride in her long mane. And now it lay shattered on the ground. It was the last token that tied her to her home in the country. Doleful, Emma began crying. She was so baffled, exposed and outraged. Who was this man to do this to her?

“Lesson number two.” Master Joe growled. “Children are not allowed to cry here. I don’t think you want to know what happens to the unshushable crybabies. I chose you for a reason. Don’t make me regret it”

Emma inhaled sharply and nodded, tears still streaming down her face. 

“I want you to say it aloud.” Master Joe ordered firmly.

“Y- yes Mas- master Joe”

“Good. Now come with me” The man grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to run to follow his long strides. He marched towards the edge of the woods surrounding them, anon dragging his slave further into the depths of the forest. An old path, created over decades of footsteps led the way through the dense jungle of reeds, bushes and large trees. Many of their old twisted trunks, gnarled roots and crooked branches wove together a mysterious and uneasy shadow looming over the silhouette of the two pedestrians. Impressive columns of mist rose from the undergrowth accentuating the gloomy atmosphere that dominated the woods. They smelled of putrefaction and of something else, with a metallic hint. Emma couldn’t quite pinpoint its origin, but it seemed oddly familiar. Master Joe determinately continued leading her through the thicket, not allowing her to heed on the details of the landscape that circled her. The falling night did not benefit her vision either. 

Soon, they arrived at a decrepit-looking building. The straw roof had been smashed by years of harsh winters and neglect. The stones that embodied its walls were overgrown with ivy and moss, weakening the already unstable structure. The old wooden door that marked the entrance to the old house was off its hinges, having been blown to the side by a particularly ferocious gust of wind. Master Joe had no problem busting it open and pushing Emma inside. He should have been more careful, however. The old red paint that had once decorated the wooden door had flaked over the years and scratched his arm when he banged it across the gate in a determined gesture to open it. Well, that’s what Emma assumed happened. The culprit could have been a splinter or an iron nail… But what she did know was that her master had been mildly hurt. Rivers of blood ran down his limb, coercing a concert of curses in their fierce current. Tearing off a piece of his shirt, he wrapped a piece of cloth around his wound to stop it from bleeding so much. 

While doing so, he noticed that Emma was staring at him.

“What? he asked angrily. She didn’t reply, content with staring him over warily. 

“Answer your master when he asks you a question, young girl.”

“Nothing,” she said, lowering her gaze. 

“Never confront me ever again you hear me?”

“Yes, master” Emma replied obediently.

“ Now, help me lift this hatch will ya?” At the far end of the house stood an old lever. Master Joe actioned it, which had the effect of revealing an entrance in the floor. He quickly brushed away the layer of leaves that had accumulated themselves on top of the hatch over time and proceeded to lift it with the help of Emma.

With a squeak, the heavy trapdoor fully opened, revealing a dark tunnel below. A musty smell emanated from its depths. It stank of death, mould and secrets. It was a place of hell where terrible things happened, Emma was sure of it. She panicked. She was convinced that if she ever set foot in that cave, then she’d never see the light of day again. Freeing herself from the evil man’s iron grip, she made a run for the door. Unfortunately, she tripped on something round and hard, making her lose her balance. She fell face-first into the moistened leaf litter. Quickly recovering from her fall, she dodged Master Joe’s flailing arms and crawled back towards the exit. By doing so, her feet uncovered the eerie culprit of her fall: a decomposing human skull. She screamed. 

Her moment of distraction allowed Master Joe to pick her up in his large muscular arms. 

“Ah… Thank goodness for George! I almost lost you there. He was a quick one like ya before his… um… accident… if you must know”

“LET. ME. GO!” Emma shrieked, her arms and legs thrashing desperately trying to escape her destiny. But her master didn’t budge, taking the blows impassively, like he didn’t even feel them. There was something unearthly about him, the way he moved and talked, how sombre his stance was. At that moment, Emma feared him more than anything else. She had sensed his dangerous aura but she hadn’t expected him to be psychotic to the point of killing innocent people! She kept fighting and kicking as he went down the hatch, his footsteps echoing loudly on the humid stairs of the place. 

As he escorted her through the maze of long corridors, hidden torches ignited their flames all at once in an augural harmony, dispelling the turbid umbras from their thrones and revealing the true nature of the uncanny crypt. A prison. That’s what it was. Old abandoned cells paraded on either side of the aisle in which Master Joe was compelling her. His long shadow trailed behind him, dimly lit by the glow of said torches as her wails sailed upon the sea of silence surrounding her. 

Callous, Master Joe continued treading the mossy cobblestones until he finally put an end to Emma's strenuous journey. He halted by one cell and unceremoniously threw her in before loudly locking the door and retiring back into the depths of the unknown.

“Master Joe! Don’t leave me here! I’ll be good, I promise!” Emma begged. “ Please let me out, I want my mooom” she wailed banging at the tin bars. Sobbing, she let herself slip to the ground, burying her face in her hands. A blue chapter of Emma’s life ended that day, surrendering to an even darker one, one that would steal along with it the remnants of her childhood innocence. She would morosely never be the same again. 

“He can’t hear you, you know”, a hushed voice arose from the back of the cell. Emma spun around vividly, only to find four pairs of eyes staring at her through the darkness. 

As they made their way closer to Emma, their figures defined themselves with the aid of the flickering light of a nearby lantern. Children. Their ages seemed to vary, ranging from a young toddler to some already in their teens. Although the age gap seemed pretty big, they all shared something in common. Despite their scrawny look and soot-covered faces, their eyes all sparkled with a glimmer of resilience. Whatever had been inflicted upon them had not yet broken their spirit. 

“Whaa, where?” Emma stammered, not really how to introduce herself. Luckily, the eldest girl of the group took care of it for her. 

“Welcome to the factory!” she chuckled sadly, offering her hand to help Emma get up. 

Her caring gesture brought a shy smile up to Emma’s lips as she lifted herself to her feet. She wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Whoever those children were, perhaps they could provide her with answers. And maybe, just maybe, with enough trust and respect, they would forge a tight bond that would be strong enough to overcome the deadly storms that life herself had put upon their paths. But for that to happen, it would take time. And time had already begun running out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Info on old sayings:
> 
> 1\. Tuberculosis was referred to as the white plague.  
> 2\. Rich lords owned the lands on which serfs lived. Because of this, they also owned the teenage daughters of the families living on their property and had the liberty to marry them to whoever they wished. This is what happened to Roberta and Frank, their lives joined not out of love, but out of obligation.  
> 3\. Drythen and earm respectfully mean sir and poor in Old English.  
> 4\. "No rights servant" is a category of people that I invented. They are a sort of slave, only, they are given a less discriminative title.
> 
> *I tried my best to be as accurate as possible, but the Middle Ages is a complex epoch, lasting from the 5th to the 15th century, and so, some facts may be more or less true. Liberties were also taken, as I'm far from being a historian and because Perceforest is still a fictional kingdom. That's why some things such as the slave trade may seem a bit odd, especially in a context where religion is present.*
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	5. The factory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! It's certainly been a while! Dang, these six past months have gone in a blast. I'm sorry about the wait, I had an awful episode of writer's block, I just wasn't satisfied with the chapter I had written. The pacing and phrasing were wrong, it was too long... Ugh. Then school started again and I didn't have much time to write.
> 
> And then, a few days ago, I opened my document, scrapped everything in it, and here we are! It's a bit of a short one though, but I was just dying to post it. I'm also sorry if the quality of my writing isn't the best in this chapter, I just wanted to let you know that this story isn't abandoned and never will be. It'll take time to finish, but I'll always come back.
> 
> Enjoy! There is a difficult scene to read here though. If anything about the physical manifestations of extreme guilt and self-hatred makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip the last paragraph below the first line and the first paragraph below the second line. I added stars to make it clearer for you.

* * *

The girl's warm touch lingered on Emma's hand as she rose to her feet. Her gaze was met by four expectant pairs of eyes, all scrutinizing, analyzing, and questioning her own. She could see friendliness and curiosity in their stares, only, they seemed to be veiled by a cloud of fear. Not really knowing what to do, she glared back at them through the thick darkness of the cell, trying to muster the courage to shoo away her growing feeling of uncomfortableness. 

A few awkward seconds passed, stretching too long for comfort, before the eldest girl took the lead, introducing herself.

"Hello there", she said in a soft voice. "You must be very confused. I am named Margaret, and these are my friends. This is Edward, Agnes, and Hugh. "

Emma's eyes followed as Margaret's finger traveled from left to right, pointing from a tall and skinny-looking boy, to two children who babbled happily. The poor things looked to have barely lived for more than eight springs. Despite their young age, they proved surprisingly friendly. Before Emma could react, two pairs of tiny arms wrapped around her legs. Stricken, Emma held her breath. She wasn't expecting such a sudden burst of affection. She wasn't used to strangers, let alone caring ones. Despite this, Emma couldn't help but appreciate the feel of their embrace. To see them so trusting and so openly affectionate was a nice surprise. Maybe this place wasn't so bad, she thought. If tiny wee ones could be happy, then she could be too, right? 

"Hewoo!" Their delighted giggles echoed softly across the cell, suggesting it was more spacious than Emma had originally anticipated. 

"Hi" Emma murmured back, still a bit shaken. 

Sensing her discomfort, Margaret gently brought them back to her side. "Don't mind them, they are always excited to meet a new brother or sister," she said. She paused for a moment, before turning around and pointing to something nearly invisible. 

She sighed. 

"Unlike..." "Adelaide"

Emma narrowed her eyes, trying to discern the vague shape clumped onto itself, huddled in the dirtiest corner of the cell. There she was, a young girl, probably a few years older than her, slowly rocking herself back and forth and humming softly. Her cries vaguely resembled an uncanny song.

Emma shivered.

"Adelaide" Margaret called, a bit louder. "We have a new sister. Would you like to meet her?"

That seemed to startle her. At the mention of her name, she slowly turned her head towards the other prisoners. Emma gasped. 

Her eyes shone through the darkness of the cell, the cold flame within them flickering eerily. Two inscrutable pools of loss and anger. Emma had never seen such a gaze before. She didn't like what she was seeing, not at all. 

Instinctively, Emma took a step back. 

Adelaide grinned. Satisfied, she resumed signing, completely unfazed by the looks of the world.

Icy shivers snaked across Emma's spine, making her want to run. Instead, she summoned the courage to speak.

"What happened to her?" she asked. 

For a few instants, Emma feared that no one would answer her. But at last, Margaret's murmur broke the thick silence that had since wedged itself between them. "She's fighting," she said simply. "She's the strongest fighter of us all." 

With that, Margaret took Emma's hand once more, dragging her towards what seemed to be the center of the cell. 

"Come", she said. "There are many things you ought to know." Like silent shadows, the three other children followed.

When they were all seated in a tight circle around her, Margaret began speaking. 

"Do you know where you are?" she inquired.

"At... The Factory?"

"Correct. Do you know what The Factory is?"

Emma shook her head.

"Hum. The Factory isn't a nice place to be at, Emma. Here, we spend our days mining iron for Master Joe. The labor is hard, but if we work long enough, we are rewarded with enough food." 

Emma nodded, encouraging Margaret to continue. 

"Master Joe is a foul man. Even though we believe he is the one in charge of all of this, he makes his workers do all the nasty work for him. He rarely leaves the grounds, if you listen hard enough, you can hear him scream insanely at night. We never see him here, though, which is a good thing if you ask me. The very sight of him means trouble. If you ever do see him, never stare at him in the eye, or he'll hurt you."

"He cut my hair."

"I know. You must have had gorgeous hair."

"I did." Emma sniffled. Long dark locks which flowed in the wind when I used to run outside in the fields. "I loved it so much! Alas..." Emma lowered her gaze, briefly crossing Edwards. He cast her a strange look, a mix of annoyance and pity.

"Sorry", Emma muttered.

"No worries, darling. As I was saying, Master Joe is dangerous. Do not _ever_ provoke him. Do you promise?"

"I promise."

"Good. His workers are strict too. There are about twenty of them. Walking brutes they are, I tell ya. They are the ones who escort us to the mines and feed us in the evening. But they are also always on the lookout for the slightest misbehavior. Feelings such as sadness, exhaustion, anger, and pain are all considered as such. Do you hear me? You _cannot_ allow yourself to be weak in front of them Emma, or they will bring you to Master Joe. And no one, absolutely _no one_ ever comes back from seeing him."

"I'll be good," Emma murmured.

"Excellent. I think you have heard enough now. I suggest you try to get some sleep. It's very late, almost the wee hours. A big day awaits you tomorrow."

* * *

Lying down on the hard stone floor of her cell, her eyes blankly staring at the ceiling, Emma pondered on the path her life had taken the instant she been thrown into one of the dark cells of _The Factory_ , where she met those who would become her companions. When had things become so complicated? How had her life changed so drastically in such little time? Why her? Why the other children? What had _they_ done to deserve something like this? Was it fate? Was it destiny? Her mother had always told her that the gods would save her. But who would save her here, in such a hellish place? 

From the moment she set foot in the dark corridors of The Factory, Emma had known that wicked things happened there. She had felt it transfix her to her very core. That feeling of edginess still hadn’t left her and it terrified her to realize that she might experience the essence of that very wickedness herself. This place was imbued in evil, how could something so pure and good like divinities find her in all of this mess?

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Emma allowed herself to openly sob. Never had she felt so alone. She was surrounded by other people sure, but these were people she did not know. They were children weighed down by their past, whose hearts were guarded so fiercely, no one could hope to be welcomed in the warm embrace within. Of course, the toddlers had been incredibly nice to her, but they were exactly that: toddlers. They were too young to have any notion of love or acceptance. The others did, however. She was _tolerated_ at best, but not accepted. Emma feared she never would be. 

In that moment, Emma couldn't help but miss her mother terribly. The extent of her ache mercilessly tore at her heart, twisting it in painful shapes. Oh, how she wished to snuggle up in her warm embrace and to leave behind all the troubles of the world. But those halcyon days were over. They would probably never see each other again. As much as it pained her, it was probably for the best. Frank would never allow such a thing to happen if she were even to succeed in escaping The Factory in the first place. Seeing her mother reduced to shreds before her very eyes had taught Emma that even the strongest people could fall. And she feared that this was a fall that her mother would difficultly recover from, if she ever did. She didn’t deserve the pain of living it all again. 

"Oh curses" Emma muttered. "If it wasn't for my stupid, **stupid** self, mother would still live happily, surrounded by her children." Emma's own loss was barely bearable, but mentally replaying everything her mother had gone through was simply impossible to process. It was her fault she had suffered.

Emma had witnessed her father turn his back to her the moment she needed him most. She had been sold like a worthless object to a heinous man, but her mother had lost her one of her most precious possessions. She was already poor, but she had been robbed of something that shouldn’t even have a price. 

Her poor, poor mother. Roberta had always been an example of pride and strength to Emma. She forever seemed unbeatable and invincible, like an old oak having survived a thousand storms. She was the one who taught her how to face ordeals with a smile, never give up. But this, how could she ever recover from this? The very reason of her life had been stolen beneath her eyes, leaving her helpless and desperate. 

How was Emma supposed to cope with her own life, when she had witnessed her only idol of strength be destroyed by another who claimed to love her? She saw her mother, she who always tackled everything life put upon her path with courage be horribly betrayed and crumpled beyond repair right before her. And it was all her fault. Had she been a better daughter, less messy and more obedient, then perhaps all of this would have been avoided.

 ***** Angrily, Emma brought her fist to her arm and hit, hard. She did it again and again and again until her mind wandered away from the dull pain her blows brought her, to the endless country of empty fields and numb woods. *

* * *

*Emma took a deep breath. Exhaling shakily, she let her arm drop limply to her side. "What have I done?" she murmured. This act should have repulsed her. This wasn't how she was raised. Roberta would be disappointed in her. Emma felt like she _should_ care, but she simply didn't. She was too exhausted, too unwell to even begin to consider the consequences of what she had just done. Instead, she brought her knees to her chin and whined. *****

She stayed like this for what seemed like hours, gently rocking herself, unconsciously mimicking the exact same posture Adelaide adopted when Emma first arrived. Then, a savior. A soft hand gently immersed itself within hers, squeezing it tightly. Emma looked up, her breath hitching slightly. 

At her worst, an angel came. It wasn't your typical angel, all white and shiny. No. This angel didn't even have wings. But Emma found that these were unnecessary. No matter how filthy or broken she was, her soul remained pure. 

"Oh, Emma" Margaret murmured. Emma averted her gaze, suddenly ashamed of herself. "I-"

"Shh. It's okay. I'm here now." She opened her arms wide, beckoning Emma to lose herself within them. She hesitated, eying Margaret warily. 

"Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you. I just don't want you to be alone anymore." With that, Margaret scooted closer to Emma, taking her in her arms. 

"Thank you" Emma sniffed. Never someone had been this kind to her. "Thank you, Margaret."

"Call me Maggie." Emma nodded and buried her face in Maggie's chest, allowing her fingers to slip between her remaining tangled locks of hair, tenderly combing them.

Emma wasn't alone. Not anymore. Something shifted inside of her, a sort of cautious understanding perhaps. Cautious of her injured limb, she suddenly threw her arms around Margaret's body, holding her tightly like her very life depended on it. And maybe it did. Emma now knew something. In all of her losses, she had gained something even more precious: a friend. Someone she could trust, someone she could hold on to like an anchor, someone who would always be there for her, no matter what. And in that instant, the dark night of unknown she had been thrown into got just a little lighter. The first glimmers of hope, scattered and weakened, but that would eventually bring the dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Chapter 6 is already in the works, so it shouldn't be too long until the next update. I may even finish it before I go back to school, but we'll see.


End file.
